Snow White Queen
by Elizabeth Fray
Summary: It was never meant to be this way. She had been good all of her life and never wished to inflict harm onto any living being. So why was she being punished in such a twisted way? What had she done to deserve this? She was a prisoner in a lavish manor, which did not sound all too bad, and yet she felt as though this was her personal Hell.
1. The Ghosts of Kalm

_**Snow** **White Queen**_

 _If only you'd have known me before the accident_

 _For with that grand collision came a grave consequence_

 _Receptors overloaded, they burst and disconnect_

 _'Til there was little feeling please work with what is left_

* * *

Sephiroth

She was a beautiful woman, a young woman, with hair the color of snow and the texture of rose petals. Her hair hung short and tight against her head, two tied strands curtaining her tanned face. Feather-light bangs hung in front of two gemstone eyes, filled to the brim with wisdom that surpassed her years. Turquoise light held no judgment against all those who have judged her, expressing the pure soul hidden beneath a mortal exterior. Perfumed with the scent of floral meadows and gifted with a thin, but strong feminine body, she would have made any man happy as his lover if it were not for one thing- something so trivial it would almost be laughable if she lived anywhere other than the great state Midgar. But she lived in the dark city by choice, choosing to move from her happy-go-lucky hometown in order to pursue a better life, or so she had hoped. So she had to suffer the consequences of her innocent decision all because the jerks surrounding her have no self-restraint- all because of her race.

Born with the name Y'shtola Poddum Scion and called the Cultured Conjurer, she was known as the healer in her tribe. She was always strong and brave, offering security to anyone who needed it. She was a valued person to her people, but the rest of the world did not view her in the same celestial light. Her race was gifted with grace and sureness, and elegance unknown and craved by humanity. Those traits alone would have satisfied anyone, but because she was born looking different, she suffered the consequences. She was known as a Miqo'te, an ignored race born and accepted only in their indigenous city, Limsa Lominsa. She was not accepted because she had pure white cat ears and a matching tail. Even if she did wear a hat and tucks in her tail, there was no way she could hide her slanted, refined features, cat eyes and the whisker tattoos she proudly accepted on her face when she accepted womanhood at thirteen.

Shortly after moving to Midgar she changed her name to Yasmina, getting tired of the Humans inability to say her name correctly. Yasmina was more common, more accepted. That way she could reinvent herself, claim the markings and eyes to be some sort of weird birth defect. Not many people believed her story though- nobody had a reason to believe such an answer; it was just too coincidental. Yasmina was alone, more so than ever. But she couldn't go back to her homeland until she made a name for herself. The loneliness nearly killed her on multiple occasions, until one day a man came into her life.

He turned her world upside down and twisted it in the sweetest way she could have ever imagined. Yasmina was no longer alone. He taught her Bastionite, the native language of her new country, and the customs of the land with such loving patience, all so that she might finally understand. They loved each other for months before she revealed her secret identity to him. She wasn't prepared to lose her only friend, her lover; thank every God above that he did not turn away from her in disgust. To be honest he was not the least bit surprised; she did not hide her appearance too well. He too had a racial secret, nontheless, being gifted with Human features while in reality both of his parents were Lalafells, a crafty race of people the size of Human toddlers; he was lucky he was the outcast of his race and was instead identical to the one she desperately wanted to be a part of. They made love that night under his satin sheets for the first time, while he whispered such soothing words into her ears that she was fully and wholeheartedly convinced that this would be the man she would marry. He made gravity seem nonexistent and all that was impossible was suddenly possible. After that night he fled town with her virginity in tow. She was sixteen when she found out she was pregnant with his child.

She raised that child with the same kindness she gave everyone, and he became an angel much like his mother. Gifted with her divine grace and beauty, but with Lalafell features, he would have been safe from all judgment for the first couple of years of his life had his mother not been single, sixteen, and misunderstood. However, this did not stop her from giving him everything she could never have. She was a good mother, but that was seen with blind eyes. Everyone pitied the boy, when in reality it was not necessary. "That poor boy!" A snooty old woman with a scrunched face and coarse, wiry red hair exclaimed, walking down the street with her lanky man in tow, looking as if he wished he were anywhere but there where his wife blew through everyone else's business like a hurricane. "I would adopt him in a second! I would give him the world if I could," she fake cried grasping both of her hands on top of his own, ignoring his look of discomfort. Little known to the world, her own children hated her, intentionally giving them less than Y'shtola could give her son.

Y'shtola just barely got a job tagging along with the cleric in town to become a nurse despite her obvious qualifications; the head doctor overlooking her 'physical deformities' because he wanted to sleep with her after catching wind that she had a child, but no husband. Because of her insecurities and the desire to feel wanted, they saw each other for a couple of years without anyone knowing. She was so love-struck, almost as if stars danced in her eyes whenever she saw him, she overlooked his crude personality. He did not care for her, degrading her and saying nasty comments about her body behind her back. He did not care for her child either. She was a harlot, and that was all there was to it. At the age of eighteen she had her second child, a daughter, a Hyur, practically Human. By the age of nineteen she was pregnant with her third while her lover fled town like the first, deciding to take his practices elsewhere, but never considering her. That was how Sephiroth found her.

She had been crying in front of the closed workplace, arms wrapped tight in a vice grip around her bloated stomach. Water rained from her verdant, broken gaze as she stared at nothing in particular, wallowing in her self-misery and wrapped up in her own drama she didn't realize a man had approached her only trying to walk past peacefully, but she was so miserable, so alone, that she latched onto the only person within reach. She wanted to cry on his shoulder and let her sorrow out so that he could repair her, reconnect the scattered pieces of the puzzle. But there were pieces missing, and he saw that; important pieces that could never be found. Why would he bother with something that would only latch onto him and feed off of him like a parasite? It was worthless and he recognized that. His own puzzle was scattered, but he had the pieces lined up nicely enough. Everything would fit together eventually with a little bit of work and effort.

He only wanted to get back to the house to see just what exactly his demonic brothers broke that time. It was a never-ending cycle of torture on his end, and the only reason it had not yet ended was because they could afford whatever was destroyed by the triplets. If he were poor perhaps he would care. He came here for his brothers and his brothers only; he would do anything to make them comfortable. As long as they were content, they were satiated. Apparently his brothers were notorious for being 'demon monkeys sent from Hell to destroy us all.' Everyone's' words, not his. _Ah, yes,_ he thought to himself, _life hasn't always been this way._

And that was the truth. Sephiroth Julien Mengele, or Jenova as he preferred his last name to be, was the second child, born to Hojo and Jenova Mengele on December thirty-first in the year 769. He had an older brother he did not remember too well, as he left home rather quickly to train in a different country, leaving him with his parents. It was not just them for very long, however, as he by the time he reached eighteen he was the older brother to nineteen younger brothers and nine younger sisters. This was no problem though, as the family was surrounded by love and each child was cherished no more than the last. The Mengele Family was wealthy, the wealthiest family in Kalm by far, but the wealth hadn't spoiled anyone in anyway, nor did it affect their parents' marriage. Hojo and Jenova had been head-over-heels in love with each other, their twenty sons and nine daughters at the time being the support to that claim. With the wealth there was freedom. Freedom of choice; anyone could be anything they wanted to be. Everything was perfect.

That is until Jenova was pregnant for the last time. She was sick during the pregnancy, not that that was unexpected, she had had twenty-nine children prior to that one, and all of them went relatively smoothly, a single flaw during the gestation of her, at the time, youngest son, and she had birthed multiples before, not to mention she was fourty-five at the time, old enough to be cautious, but not too old that it must be stopped. What was unexpected though was when she died during delivery to the last born Mengele. The little baby, a son, lived however, and Sephiroth never forgave him for it. Life became broken, but stable after that. Hojo picked up the slack, taking a little more time off of his work to care for his children, but it was never the same- he was never the same. Without her lilting song carried throughout the halls, the mansion felt empty. Without the sound of her bare feet pattering down the halls as she chased her squealing daughter, there was no happiness. Hojo felt it too, and without another glance back to look at what he had right there in front of him, he hung himself in his bedroom where his most innocent child would find him slightly swinging still.

He never heard Hope scream that loud in his entire life.

Without his father in the picture, the house of cards came tumbling down, the bottom card pulled roughly from existence until the equilibrium was thrown away. There was no more happiness: nobody smiled, nobody laughed, and nobody talked to each other. The walls once painted white seemed to fade to a dark and dingy gray. The windows were never open. They all became recluses.

Sephiroth was going to take care of his brothers and sisters. He was old enough to, at twenty years old, care for younger siblings, despite not _wanting_ to care for Ienzo. Uncle Jacques caught wind of this and contested. He didn't care for Ienzo either, but with the death of his brother-in-law came a handsome heritage, one that each Mengele child received. However, once Ienzo was claimed, each child was wanted shortly after, but not for the same reasons as greedy Uncle Jacques. Each and every one of his brothers and sisters were pulled in different directions, scattered across the globe leaving Sephiroth with an empty feeling. He was only able to hold onto the triplets before they were yanked out from underneath him as well. And thus lead to the fall of the House of Mengele.

So there he was left, rebuilding his house of cards with Kadaj, Loz and Yazoo, playing the role of father, older brother, and mentor in a house too large for the four of them. It was his idea, one he made without consulting the triplets, to move out of the mansion without selling it in order to move into to the city. They had complained, oh they had complained, but the whines had fallen onto deaf ears, they were moving whether they liked it or not. They did not like it, but they got over it-eventually. It proved to be a rather welcoming change.

He wasn't sure when he stopped hearing the whining about the place being too small, but they found something new to whine about. They had new interests and they turned into new people. No longer were they sweet angels listening to their mother sing them to bed, they were demons sent from Hell unleashing their rage and chaos everywhere they went. In short, they were not nice people, and neither was Sephiroth.

Sephiroth himself turned cruel with the hatred inside of him burning his insides like a passionate fire that could not be extinguished, licking up through his veins and spreading their torturous, poisonous fumes. Despite the fiery war inside, he became a cold person to the rest of the world- uncaring and sinister.

It was about one week into November when he was informed of the tortures caused by his brothers, apparently they city had tried to reach him previously to discuss such matters of importance, but a certain group of _angels_ decided it would be 'better not to bother him.' Apparently punishment was not a new topic to the triplets, but rather a routine. Sephiroth didn't want to go himself; he had no interest in going at all. He didn't even care about his brothers. They were nuisances, but they were his.

So that is where he left, heading back home from a stimulating debate on his 'troubled' brothers and how 'it might be a problem with his family history.' They asked him questions he would rather not answer, and then suggested confession. They didn't need to confess to some ninny in a dress- they were completely fine. Perhaps it seemed he was apathetic toward the trio, which was true, but in his mindset saying that they needed to go to a church to abolish their sins would mean that he would suddenly have to become religious. So instead, he figured it would be better to suck it up for one day and talk like the goddess damned adult he was.

He was nearly there, having walked to his destination since it was not that far from his place, and the night was peaceful and quite; a beautiful spectacle, not that he would tell anyone, but he was absolutely fascinated with astronomy. He was almost past the shanty the old cleric used to use, and, in his purposefully indifferent nature to all that surrounded him; he ignored the girl sitting there, arms wrapped around knees and face buried in arms. Her body was convulsing he noted dully, and yet he couldn't be bothered to find out if she was having a seizure or simply just crying. Sephiroth was going to walk right past her and down the dirt paved road that marked a Hell he was not ready to face called his brothers, having forgotten about the girl with the hidden face, and already erasing her from existence within the depths of his mind that maybe deep down did care.

However, that approach never lasted long as it was expected it should have. Strangers ignore each other, it was the general rule of Midgar; part of the reason he wanted to move here in the first place, that and nobody knew him here, or cared about him. Here his parents didn't die and he preferred to keep it like that. He never lost his brothers and sisters to the rest of his family, and most of all he never cared. In Midgar he was only ever known as the cold, heartless bastard with three demonic brothers and a profession in successfully killing. There was nothing else to compare to, and no one ever cared enough to try and dig past the rocky exterior to find the truth hidden deep within years ago. That is how it remained, up until Sephiroth met Y'shtola, that is.

Two hopelessly lonesome people, one secluded by choice while the other was left behind on purpose, were drawn to each other, no matter how much Sephiroth protested to it. And protest he did, quite loudly too, claiming that she was not his friend and he had no obligation to her just like she had none to him, but the fact of the matter is that deep down, way deep down, buried underneath untouched sentimental memories, and as seldom as there were, he still kept them close to heart just like his friendship to Y'shtola. He valued her company, but would rather her death than her to actually know that petty fact.

They were an odd pair, that much was a given. Meeting up for sex and only sex later on, benefitting both of them for the time being, but unknowingly hurting Y'shtola in the long run. Somewhere along the way, casual sex like that with a harlot had become something more to her; she began to imagine a future together, endowing false hope upon herself that maybe he too cares for her how she cares for him. She knew he did not and that was the fact that killed her most of all. But she went along with it anyway, for her two precious sons and darling daughter, for their happiness. They needed a caring man in their life, and Sephiroth may as well have been that man for them. They looked up to him, and she didn't see how that in particular was a bad thing.

Sephiroth was a strong man, an ambitious man. He didn't take no for an answer, and could argue his way out of anything, even if he knew he was wrong, without breaking a sweat. He could lie through his teeth and still offer a smile that one could ironically call honest. He was brilliant, always ready for conflict to break out so he could debate his way through the conversation, with intelligence levels befitted for a cleric, and yet he found his time better acquainted in guild work. Given his past of successes, Sephiroth made a name for himself, quickly moving through the ranks until he reached a special district in the Midgar guild world; the SOLDIER branch. He had the makings, and with all of his blood, sweat and energy put into it he became a First Class SOLDIER.

A couple of years ago, if anyone asked the sweet boy what he wanted to be, perhaps he would have said 'clergy' or 'medicine man' with as much enthusiasm as would be expected from a seven-year-old, however, he hardened. It was necessary, or so he thought, that he would have to be the strong one, he would have to take care of all of his siblings. But when that number dwindled down further he lost more and more of the warmth and light that was left intact, and became swarmed with darkness and a chill that makes men shiver in his wake.

Poor Y'shtola didn't sense this, too overcome with her own personal darkness to notice that of those around her, and mistakenly took him for someone who might have actually cared. As he stepped heavily down the path, as bored as if he just attended a church sermon and he were an atheist, he did not expect a fellow white-haired civilian to ensnare his legs with her surprisingly strong arms. If there were any other witnesses they might have expressed their shock that a man so composed and graceful had stumbled because a petite woman had his limbs entangled with her own, and would have continued to watch on with humor glinting in their eyes as the man with long silver hair attempted to extricate himself from the stray cat. However it seemed to be only him and her, grunting and crying while the sun disappeared on the horizon.

As his time ensnared got longer and longer, her vice grip constricted more and more until he was perfectly numb from the shins down. Feeling awkward, he attempted to shake her off, but to no avail. The movement caused the opposite of what he hoped and he found himself stumbling slightly so that no he was practically sitting on the cool dirt next to the little lady. It was then that he realized that the woman with hair like his, and ears like a cat, was pregnant- very pregnant. It seemed that she would be due any week now, therefore she should be on bed rest perhaps, but instead she was crying in front of the old medicine house she seemed too young to be attending. Something inside Sephiroth seemed to soften the slightest bit as he realized that maybe her life was hard. Maybe even harder than his, if he would let himself see that far into someone else's life.

So they sat there together, bumping knees and talking about nothing in particular, so as to just calm the lady, whose name he found out was Yasmina, but really was Y'shtola. He heard of her life, the racism, the judging comments of her motherhood even though back in the tribe lands it was perfectly naturally to be raising children without a father. She spoke of her oldest son Papalymo- a Lalafell by birth, and despite being three-years-old, was beginning to show traits of his race- and his father had fled after their one night stand, her young daughter named Yda- a Hyur at the young age of one- whose father just fled as well, along with her full-blood baby brother or sister who will never grow to know a father. Y'shtola spoke of Limsa Lominsa, a town with it's feral beauty and kind people. Where races of every kind flock to in order to find acceptance and peace, and where the air is clean of judgment. The concept was interesting and foreign to him, like reading it straight from the history books, and he promised himself that one day he would visit this foreign land and see life without an organized population for once.

In turn he told her of his happy childhood with his siblings and parents in a better part of Gaia. The way his mother used to sing songs and chase them down the halls while she wore beautiful simple dresses, but never jewelry- she never needed it- and bare feet as she found it weird to wear shoes in the house; this got Y'shtola to smile. He glanced over their deaths, the supposed Satan-spawned brother who killed their angelic mother, and how he lost almost all custody of his siblings. When she asked about his job he told her he worked in a popular Midgar guild, already the best in the First Class before he reached his twenty-first year. He also answered that he was not courting anyone, nor was he looking to anytime soon. Love was a game he did not play. To him his days of playing have long since passed, and being in a guild proved that.

They got along quite well, as lonely people often do together. Y'shtola decided she had bothered him long enough, a point Sephiroth was not going to correct, and promised to meet him again sometime. She gave him directions to her house and as peeved off as he was for actually having to talk to someone, and then her wanting to continuously talk to him in the future, he was not completely dissatisfied with the evening. Fuck everything else he knew, right?

They had talked plenty over the next couple of days, once more about nothing other than getting to know each other a little better, and even getting together to picnic a lunch. That had been a mistake as he came back sweaty from training, and she with quite a bit of blood on her from the doctoring she resumed. She was after all perfectly trained and equipped for taking care of the town. They had received quite a bit of looks, not that they really cared in the first place, but for the comfort level they decided only when they both were _clean_ would they meet. Peaceful friendship soon took a different route, a turn neither of them had foreseen when they had originally started talking, but it became the new normality for the duo. Neither really knows who started it, or how it started, but one day it was flirting, simple and innocent flirting, but even that did not last long as it was soon replaced with bedtime innuendoes. Nothing was acted upon, but it was rather strange for Sephiroth to think that this is where his most recent friendship had headed.

He had had friendships before, back in his 'normal' lifestyle when he still considered himself an upstanding citizen of his town. His two best friends, Genesis Rhapsodos and Angeal Hewley, talked to him everyday for a short while before returning to training, as they all worked in the same sector. His other friend, the only other person on this damned planet he would even consider as such, was Lucrecia Crescent, whom he hadn't had the chance to talk to in years due to the fact that she lived in a different country, Nibelheim if he remembered correctly. Maybe he could visit her as a surprise once on a vacation if he could get the time off or if a mission brought him there.

Having a female friend had never been strange to Sephiroth as society often made it seem it would; Lucrecia was a very patient and open-minded person. In many ways she and Y'shtola were very alike, however, he would never dare flirt with Lucrecia. He would never toy with her in such a way, playing with her emotions to suit his fancy. The thought of doing that to poor, sweet Lucrecia made him sick. But that same thought never occurred when he thought of Y'shtola. He _knew_ she had feelings for him, and that seemed to only make playing with her all the more fun. He did not want to take it any farther, but that soon changed, faster than either of them anticipated.

On December fourth he received his first 'Holiday Greeting' letter. He used to care deeply for his sweet grandmother, but now she was just the mother of his mother, Shara Beyten Ethol. She never approved of his starting to call her Shara, but she passed it off as his way of coping; she had witnessed many deaths before, and unfortunately three were her very own children. She, that woman, that witch, conniving bitch, she stole one of his precious baby sisters from him and took her in as her own. That wasn't what bothered him when he received the Greeting card, though. Nor was it that she still insisted on writing 'love' and 'Grandmother' on it. What pissed him off to no end was that his sister, his sweet baby sister, whom always smiled with a light so bright it was indescribable, and did not know the concept of pain signed her name off in such a vulgar way. Signed by the 'love' and 'Grandma' was not her precious, darling name, but instead Paine Ethol.

What was a pure and holy angel was shunned into the darkest recesses of their minds and replaced with a demon. Instead the five-year-old chose a name equivalent to misery, trepidation, suffering. The very thought made his cold blood boil. Was that saying something then? Was that a cry for help? What had Shara done to her? Truthfully, nothing wrong, and he knew that, but the fact that she changed her last name completely, not even to Wynne to suit her grandmother, but to completely disassociate herself from the family altogether. He also knew that this crime lead back to the very bane of his existence- his own baby brother. Had Ienzo been older and killed their mother, perhaps Sephiroth would have actually felt something for his brother, hatred, but something nonetheless. No, instead he resigned himself to apathy to his own blood. This was not something he would forget, and if one day he were to show up on his doorstep begging to be freed from the house he is now to be raised in Sephiroth would sooner slam the door in his face whilst cackling like a maniac than help him. Sephiroth is well aware of what Uncle Jacques was capable of, and he was not the least bit sorry that that is where Ienzo was destined to be sent.

The hatred had built up, compacted itself into one being shrouding him completely in the darkness he had been beating back with a stick, breaking the dam and releasing the cataclysm that had been building up since February first. Life is a bitch, it had been explained over and over to him thus far, by friends, in school, even his cousins had been so kind to indulge that breakthrough to him, and yet nothing burnt more then seeing his family move on without him. Everyone around him was changing, and he cannot even tell if he himself had changed even though the difference was quite obvious.

It was on that forsaken day, he had labeled quite a few of those recently, that he left his house in search for the one he had come to memorize, something that could be debated at whether it was a pro or a con later; if he had not had had it committed to memory, then perhaps it would have been too much work to find the correct location, and the fateful day where boundaries were pushed would never have occurred. But nevertheless, he knocked on the door and she opened from the other side. Few hurried words were exchanged, and she understood.

"Y'shtola," as he was truly the only one left who called her by her given name.

"Mengele," as she called him by his given name much to his chagrin.

"Are the kids asleep?" Silence indicated her confusion had he not been able to see her face. He had never came around just to ask about her children before even though she knew there was more to the spontaneous conversation than that.

"...Yes? Sephiroth? Are you okay? You sound... angs-" But before she could finish he had already cut her off. He needed something, or quite rather _wanted_ something, and by all means he was going to get it. Did he necessarily need or want sex? No. He just wanted a release, an outlet to release his frustrations. Y'shtola had always provided verbal consolations, but it was time to see if her mouth had other uses as well, he supposed.

"-Forget about that Y'shtola. I'm coming in." She clicked her tongue to express her confusion, an idiosyncrasy of hers that he had picked up on after a couple of weeks of knowing each other and being confused as to why the woman kept snapping her tongue in her mouth.

"O... kay?" Realization was heavy in her voice, weighing the heaviest, unknowingly lowering her voice as she began to talk quieter, almost as if this was all a secret. He could see her cradle her arms around her body, glancing down the hall to make sure her children did not wake to such a scandal. Her oldest child was three, which meant it would not matter if he woke up; he would not understand anything either way. His brothers were seventeen. Therefore if they walked in on him they would torment both participants and probably suggest something akin to blackmail. Needless to say his house was almost never an option. "Can I ask why first?" He ignored her final plea.

There were a couple of places Sephiroth felt he did not belong in the world, and this place he most certainly pegged. Midgar had slums, he was aware of that; he just never was able to bring himself to enter them. Now that he had he felt out of place. He was raised by love and brought up with money, both of which there was an apparent vacancy of down... _there_. The worst part of being down there, the one thing that stood out above all else, was the apparent lack of sky. Not just any sky however- night sky.

Before he could find more things wrong with where his friend was living, although he was thoroughly convinced that it would be harder to find things that were _right_ with this place, Y'shtola stepped to the side and allowed him entrance. The angelic mother clad in a flimsy night robe that barely scraped the floor, exposing the pale flesh of her dainty feet and the tease of her cleavage from the plunging neckline, bathed in the golden and hazy light coming from the lone lamp in her living room; it was tempting. Light tickled the dark tendrils of the darkness, pushing its advances away softly, so that no evil should ever lay a finger on its mistress. Shimmering in the lowlight, her confused and worried expression caught him off guard, and he had to remind himself that she was not truly celestial. The ethereal beauty, a woman of spectacular remedy, who excelled in medicine back in her land, would prove to be the only cure for his heartache.

She greeted him, heavy confusion lacing her words, but it was left to be heard by ears deafened by promises broken ringing in his ears. _Together forever. Nothing will change. You will be okay._ She allowed his lips to touch hers in a frenzied kiss that lacked the passion she desired, but accepted because she knew it would help him, even if it were going to hurt her in the end. Hesitantly she pressed further into the kiss, and began leading him down the hall to where her bedroom rested, the place where they would act out of sin with her children just across the hall. Thoughts began to flash through her mind rapidly; _I shouldn't be doing this... I should stop this now before anyone gets hurt... someone needs to shut the front door... I am going to get hurt... I am going to have to be quiet._

She relinquished what little control she had of the situations and let herself be carried to the bed by the man she had come to love, but knew did not love her the same. She let herself be tossed onto the bed and let him crawl over her. She let him slip the robe down her shoulders to reveal the light chemise she wore to bed, despite it being the beginnings of winter. She let him press kisses along her throat while she moaned into his hair. He undressed her, and saw her with eyes clouded by lust. Tangled in each other's limbs, silver and white hair twisted together, hot air exchanged between two panting mouths, it was like they saw each other for the first time.

They moved in unison, forming one body birthed by the embodiment of pleasure. They worked together as true partners would; successfully creating bliss for the other that it was hard to believe this was the first time they were more than friends. The amalgamation happened far too quickly for it to be comfortable, as these things take time and trust to build up into something pure and something beautiful, whereas this was birthed by chaos and destructive emotions, fathered by the thin friendship established by loneliness. It was ignored, and it was continued on for longer than necessary. Sephiroth was over Y'shtola's shanty enough that the children naturally began to think of him as their father, and he despised that.

One thing Sephiroth promised himself after his parents' deaths was that he would never have a child of his own. There was no need for it, and it would damn well do the world a favor if he didn't plant his Satan seed in Gaia's womb. He did not want attachment to anything mortal ever again- and then he met the white-haired siren. He did not want kids with her, she did not change that, nor did he want marriage. She opened his eyes to a new light, and healed his longing spirit some. She was his hope, and he was her rock. It was designed to be a perfect pairing given time. He did not seem to mind her infants as much as he originally assumed he would, he thought begrudgingly. He was even there for the birth of her final child.

She had been scared that day, home alone with Papalymo and Yda, breastfeeding the two when the pain began. The slow roll of pain in the pelvis that induced nostalgia for the young mother, as she was brought back to the monthly menstrual cycle cramps she has received since she hit twelve years. "Papi, feel the baby kick! Your little brother or sister in there is getting a little antsy, don't you feel it?" Papi suddenly raced over to the bulged stomach, staring at the capsule containing his youngest sibling before gently laying his hands across the globe, and feeling around until he came across where he knew the baby to be; he loved to lay his ear on the stretched skin and listen to the fetus whilst it kicked him in the head.

"Ami? I don' feel anythin'." Y'shtola stared down at her three-year-old lovingly whilst running a hand through his shortened blonde hair. His eyes held disappointment at the loss of such a familiar feeling, and she could not help but be enamored by the sight. Slowly, like a doctor, he began running his hand slowly and delicately across the heated surface just to be sure he did not miss the baby in the first place. "No," he concluded finally.

"Papi, I don't feel the baby kicking at the moment now. Wait a second and maybe they will come and play with you. Okay?"

"Okay, Ami." They waited a few minutes patiently together as she ran her fingers through the golden straw colored hair to the base of his neck when the aforementioned pain returned with a new burning intensity. She clenched her fingers tight on the couch cushion she and her son and daughter were laying on, and in the silky hairs of her eldest. Her breathing intensified as she tried to find a way to repress such sudden and demanding pain. She put on a strong face for her son, who had not seemed to notice the sudden change in behavior his mother was going through. "I felt it kick, Ami! I felt it kick!" His eyes lit bright at the feeling of the baby pressing its tiny foot against his cheek, and his hands pause in amazement and wonder. "Again! Again!" He chanted quietly as to not bother his slumbering sister; she did not take to kindly to being forced into consciousness.

"That's great!" She had panted out, feeling the pains rolling through her body once more. Then it happened. "Ow! Ow, ow, ow! Don't press so hard, Papi!"

"I'm not pressing at all, Ami," he said, cocking his head to the side. He sat where he was previously, without his head resting on the raised baby bump. "Look, see? No hands." Papalymo's hands extend forward, palms up, as to show that they had nothing to do with the awful pains she now feels. The agony beat down to her core, burning in her uterus before she arched her back slightly to alleviate some of the hurt by stretching the sore area. It did not help, in fact it got worse.

Sudden wetness rushed down her legs fast, like water, drenching her gown and the sofa with the clear liquid. "Holy shit!" She called out randomly, startling Papalymo and Yda. Yda burst into tears as she was forced into reality, scared by the sudden shout of her mother, and from the obvious pain she was in. "Shit, shit, shit!" She sang, "Not fucking now! No fucking way!" Having had delivered many babies and caring for their mothers beforehand, she was awfully surprised that she had not sensed her own babe was on the way. She had a blind eye to her own medical problems it seemed. After all, nurses are the worst patients.

"Ami!" Papi cried in shock. He had never heard such foul language spewed all at one time, especially from his own mother. Not even his "Apa", Sephiroth, as that is what he and his sister call him, curses that much in front of them. "Ami, what is wrong?" With no answer he decided to try again. "Ami! Answer me!"

"Call for Nursie!" She nearly screamed as a new form of agony washed through her. The contractions slowly were getting worse still, and now she knew the baby was coming, and she had no way of getting to the hospital. There was no nearby one this far deep in the slums. Her only thought was that her friend might be able to help. Maybe. It was a long shot, but it was also her only option. She knew how to deliver a baby, but delivering her own was a long shot.

Faintly in the background through Yda's hysteric crying she heard the sound of her only son frantically talking to the nurse outside to try and get her to come in a hurry. "Nursie, Nursie, Ami needs you quickly!" Papi ceases the conversation for a moment, only taking a few shuddering breaths before he responds. "S-she says the baby's c-coming," the young boy began to sob from the fear and confusion of the situation at hand. "P-please come! A-a-and hurry!" The door is closed roughly, only further startling the poor baby and her mother.

"Papi! Take Yda to your room. Now!" She nearly screamed as another round of pain rolls throughout her body, causing her to grunt and pant, and sweat to accumulate on her forehead. The Lalafell offspring meekly nodded his head, took his sister by the hand, and rushed out of the room, leaving only a trace of upset girl, like a fading memory. But there was no time to worry about that; she had a baby on the way. Yet another child raised without his or her respective father. _Who would take care of my children if anything ever happened to...?_ She shook the thought from her head as she slowly lowered herself onto the floor, waiting for her knight in shining armor to come through her door.

It felt like an eternity and then some before the door was pushed open harshly, and in stormed Sephiroth, dragging a young and radiant brunette by her arm. Not very gentle with her, he nearly threw the scared-looking girl to the ground before her before going off to somewhere else in the house. Y'shtola instantly felt pity for the woman kneeling before her; she always knew Sephiroth could be rough, but not everyone else had the pleasure of knowing that beforehand. But despite all that, the woman smiled down at her with gorgeous emerald eyes filled to the brim with innocence and mirth, and took her tanned hand into her dainty one.

"Hello, Y'shtola; it is a pleasure seeing you again. I am sorry I could not get here sooner, and I am sorry for bringing that brute over," she daintily frowned at the mention of Sephiroth, "but he was over and… I am a... family friend of the gentleman that escorted me here. I am sorry for such idle chatter, but I must ask a couple of questions before I continue. Is that okay, ma'am?" The white haired feline bobbed her head in understanding, indicating the go-ahead to the ethereal beauty before her. She wasted no time in starting the inquiries. "Any previous children?" Only a simple nod of the head granted the answer to the question. "Okay, how many?"

"Two; a three-year-old and an almost one-year-old," Aerith nods her head as well, beginning to go through the process of removing the clothes that would block the way.

"Okay, very good. I will need you to spread your legs for me, honey. How old are you?" She despised this question just as much as the reaction she got whenever found out her race. There is always judgment, even in the nicest, most flowery people, like Aerith. Her breathing increased as she began to think of the worst things to come. Aerith could altogether decide she does not want to help based on the fact that woman of her background is pregnant with no father present. There were too many things that could go wrong, and she did not know if she could handle it. But she just had to accept the disgust to come.

"Relax, sweetie, there is no judgment here. Breathe in breathe out. This kind of stress will not be good for you or your little boy," there is a slight pause as one single thought races through her mind. _Why is she so sure it is a boy?_ Without realizing it, she voiced her question out loud, and only noticed it happened when Aerith began to laugh musically. Brown curls fell to the side as she cocked her head and shut one eye in a cheeky wink. "I am just that good at this kind of stuff." Seeing as how the young Miqo'te did nothing other than stare blankly in the young nurse-to-be's direction, Aerith settled back into her usually cheerful, but settled demeanor, and asked her original question again. "I need to know your age."

Realizing that there is no way around the question, Y'shtola answered, albeit hesitantly. "I am twenty years old, ma'am."

"No need for the formalities. You are older than me, after all. The title 'Madame' is a bit too old for me, don't you think?" No further words were said as the nurse began to stroke her white hair, pushing the bangs back so they no longer stuck to her face. "I am going to check how far you are dilated now, okay?" Y'shtola nods her head tiredly as another contraction occurs, and she is caught breathless for a moment trying to push the pain back into the dark recesses of her mind. The dark brown head disappears between her legs, but she continued her questions regardless. "How are the contractions?"

"What do you mean?" She huffed, dazed and confused, feeling overwhelmed with the fear of the baby's seemingly sudden arrival. The signs were there all day long, and yet she disregarded them, passed it off as some sort of pregnancy pain, which wasn't wrong, or hunger pains. For having birthed two other children, she really thought that she might have been able to pick up the signs a little better, yet there she was, sprawled on the floor in her living room with her children holed up in their room while Sephiroth parades through, doing _something_ ; _whatever_ it is that he deemed so important at the moment. Whatever trumps childbirth, she supposed.

Aerith rolled back so she was sitting on her heels, arching her back and reaching her arms above her head, hands interlocked between fingers so that she was stretching. Joints cracked as shoulders rolled, and both occupants of the room winced at the disturbing sound. Forgotten for the moment, Aerith restated, "Are the contractions growing in intensity? Are they lasting longer, or becoming closer together? Are they following a regular pattern?" Y'shtola paused as she tried to come up with the right answer. It had not been going on for long, right? What is there to compare it to?

"I-I don't really know how to answer that... much..." She trailed off, afraid of answering wrong.

"What do you mean?" Her hands rubbed up along over her naval, caressing her bulge in a loving manner, being gentle for the baby and the sensitive mother's sake. The ministrations were relaxing and caused her to become sleepy and soothed.

"It's possible that this has been going on all day, no? I just recently started to acknowledge it- goddesses above, I am such a fool!" She cried out, wondering just how in the world she had managed to go throughout her day without noticing her body shifting as the baby prepared itself for exit. "I had nearly all day to plan! Stupid, stupid me!" Her rant continued, almost indefinitely it seemed as she took her rage out on herself by berating herself. "Foolish, stupid, idiot-" She cried, hormones raged crazily as a final mood swing occurred. Tears streamed down her face in frustration and grief. _How do I always manage to fuck things up?_ She thought to herself.

Aerith felt incredibly awkward as the young mother before her began to wail over something that was never entirely her fault. She moved her hands to embrace the others, drawing weary and worn green eyes upon mystical and elegant ones. "Listen to me. It is not your fault, all right? I have seen this happen many times before. Lucky for you, you still have time to get up and move to the clinic. Come on now, up, up," Aerith stood, smoothing out the wrinkles in her amethyst nightgown as she called for assistance. "My Lord! You are okay to come into the living room now!"

In the direction of the hallway that lead to the bedrooms a door clicked shut nearly silently. Even quieter still Sephiroth emerged from the dimly lit corridor into the shabby living area. Wordlessly he pulled his friend up to her feet and stepped away, although not too far so that if she were in need of something he would be right there to help. His face looked emotionless and grim, as if he was entirely unamused by the situation. _No empathy, sympathy, nothing._ Almost as if her heard her silent speech, he bowed his head in her direction and scowled. She merely blushed and looked down, feeling ashamed for even thinking such awful things.

"I will accompany you to the hospital," Aerith had said, to which Sephiroth growled ferally deep in the back of his throat. He sounded like a panther about to strike and kill. "You will stay here with the children, okay?" The tension in the room increased as the vicious rumbling coming from the silver haired male in the room crescendoed. "Is there a problem, my Lord?"

"Yes, there is, Aerith," he bit out. "You see, my Lady, I am _not_ a _fucking_ babysitter! I will take Yasmina to the hospital, you stay put with the little half-pints, _okay?"_ He mocked her ending, sounding more as if he were talking to a child instead of a youthful adult. Both beautiful faces become cross as they glare at each other, and Y'shtola could not help but be impressed by how gutsy the mousy woman before her must have been to stare into the eyes of the snarling wolf without so much as flinching.

Both man and woman fight through their eyes, a horrendous war filled with ugly battles that leave scars every which way. Neither one backing down, unrelenting, never going to give in, never asking whom _she_ wanted to attend her through her painful hours to come. The white-haired lady was almost afraid to break the two up, but she figured they could take forever all the same. Aerith seemed to be quite stubborn, but Sephiroth could be downright mean and ornery when he wanted to be, which, unfortunately, seemed to be always. It was time she stepped in.

"Hey, guys-"

"She needs me! Not you! What can you do for her, Monsieur Mengele? _Hmm?_ " She sternly crossed her arms and lowered her head, so that her appearance became more threatening suddenly. She seemed like such a purely sugar-sweet kind of girl in the beginning, and now she steeply transitioned into a demon incarnate. _I wonder what their story is... What has become of them that he treats her so roughly, and she in turn is so bitter and cold towards him?_ She was snapped out of her thoughts when Aerith leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Come, my love. I cannot wait until I lay eyes on your brand new babe. I hope he arrives healthily and happily, and that your recovery is swift!" She then turns her attention back towards the fuming dragon in her living quarters. "Farwell to you. I hope you find your peace."

It had not even registered that she was being pushed through her own doorway until the battered metal door coldly shut behind her, separating her from the silent gentleman of winter, and dragged by the exuberant lady of warmth. And thus they made their way to the hospital, the whole way between her bouts of pain she thought of her lovely children and the luck she must have possessed for them to gain such golden souls. Would she truly be lucky enough to have yet another healthy baby?

Months later she sits in her home, her new baby son, Thancred, suckling her breast as he slowly nods off to sleep. Papi and Yda lay idly by, playing with used and colorful blocks together. And yet, she is not content.

"What do you mean you are leaving?" She asked worriedly, ears folding back and tail swishing nervously as she carefully unlatched the child from her leaking nipple and laid him on the couch beside her, covering herself after making sure he would not roll away.

Sephiroth merely rubbed his nose in irritation at the prospect of having to repeat himself. He absolutely hates repeating himself. "It is a mission, alright? I just have to travel to somewhere in the continent of Twilight, wherever the King decides to send me. It's just the routine enforcing control- in and out naturally. I should be back in a couple of weeks, a month or so at most."

"But... but what will I do without you?" She asked. She would be dying of loneliness here alone at home. Sure Aerith would be there to help comfort her, but it just was not the same.

"Relax. It will be quick," he stood up, about to leave her, embark on this mission that she so desperately despised, as she was mad at _something_ and it was always easiest to blame the thing that she could not control. The mission would not get hurt feelings if she told it she could not stand its existence. It was easy, but at the same time she felt her threads unwinding at the seams. She was falling apart, about to burst, filled to the brim with emotions she could not control and could not change. She would just have to wait for him to return to her, return her solace and sanity and bestow upon her the crest of eternal love. The fantasies were making her go mad.

"Wait!" She nearly screamed as he turned around, about to grant her a final farewell before steeping through that door that she hated so much. It only ever let people walk out of her life permanently. Walking in was only a temporary thing. "Sephiroth!" She tried again, feeling the insanity creep up on her as she began to hate her own front door.

"Yes?" He plainly asked, quirking and eyebrow upwards as he waited impatiently for her to answer, foot tapping in the meantime.

"Promise me something," he waited still- waiting for her to move on and tell him so he could leave already. "Promise me, that if anything, goddesses forbid, were to happen to me, you will keep my children safe." It was her turn to wait, impatiently dreading his response. _He probably thinks you have gone cuckoo, you beast._ She twitched slightly, and was thankful that he had not seemed to notice it.

"Yasmina-"

"-Promise me!"

"Okay, I promise, you idiot! But nothing will happen to you." And with those final words he walked out of the door, and out of her life, and she was convinced that she would see no more of him. The thought caused her to scream in fury. He heard the scream, but he never strayed.

* * *

Hello everyone! I am terribly sorry for the very long wait. I started this _months_ ago, I just had such trouble writing this; you can probably see that on your own with how poor the content is. I was reading this to my sister and she could not stop complaining on how confusing this chapter is because of all the time skipping. The whole story will _not_ be like this, I promise. This chapter definitely was because it is the prologue, and, like I said, I had an awful time writing this. This story will soon follow the track of the previous one given time, I just was dissatisfied with the way it was going and felt as though I had to start over. I am terribly sorry for that, and that this one is at a rough start, but it will shape up soon enough- I promise! Hope and I are pitching our ideas for this story together, so I have a better idea of what the people, you guys, want. Also, feel free to leave a comment on what you want by reviewing, sending me a private message, or asking me through my Tumblr, helpwithoutheart. Please help me to make my story your story too. I am hoping to become a better writer and I cannot do that if I receive no feedback! So, yeah, that is about it! Until next time, which will hopefully take less time to write than this one did. Reviewing and favoriting helps, as it lets me know there is interest! Another thing, there will be some character probably unknown to you because they can be from different games, or races you have not heard of, or places, et cetera. Do not worry about it too much; it is not awfully crucial to the story to know exactly everything I am talking about. Kingdom Hearts worlds will be used to name continents, and the bulk of the countries/cities are from Final Fantasy. One last thing, I do not own Final Fantasy, Kingdom Hearts, or the song The Ghosts of Beverly Drive. That about wraps it up, I think... Until next time!

-Grace of the Feathered Pen


	2. Tifa, Are You Doing Okay?

_**Snow** **White Queen**_

 _There's a moment in time_

 _And it's stuck in my mind_

 _Way back, when we were just kids_

 _'Cause your eyes told the tale_

 _Of an act of betrayal_

 _I knew that somebody did_

 _Oh, waves of time_

 _Seem to wash away_

 _The scenes of our crimes_

 _For you this never ends_

* * *

Tifa

No one could really argue against the fact that Tifa Lockhart had a rather quaint life. Besides losing both her parents at the young age of ten, losing contact with nearly all of her siblings, and moving to another country to be with her grandmother, nothing really eventful happened. Sure, she lost her parents, but quite honestly she cannot remember much about them in the first place; they were just never around. Life with _Daniel_ and _Clarissa_ was just one huge secret anyway.

Her mother, called Clarissa Misaki towards the end of her life, was born Ciqala Harjo, raised in the Twilan lands her eldest daughter now refers to as home. Her grandmother, Hakidonmuya, had never understood why her youngest living daughter did not harbor the same appreciation towards the simpler lifestyle like her two elder brothers did, nor how she could manage to take a life without shedding a single tear afterwards. Clarissa was never happy as Ciqala, the little farm girl who was the youngest and most rebellious in her family of seven. She was heading towards a path of destruction and spiraling down in chaos until she met Godo Kisaragi, an agent living in the dark city Midgar. She became infatuated with his dazzling tales of saving the president, and spying on and, if necessary, killing the enemy. His life was never boring, filled with excitement and money to spend on leisure. She surprised everyone by leaving abruptly and prematurely, very close to being referred to as run-away, in order to pursue this fabulous life of crime fighting extraordinaire.

Clarissa tested and passed the entrance exams with flying colors, becoming the first female to enlist in the Turks, an elite force working directly underneath the King Hugo Caterly. She was partnered up with Godo, and together they became an unstoppable team, the most powerful in their division. Nothing could stop them when they were in each other's company; they were nearly invincible. Chemistry that strong needed to be seen in person in order to believe it truly existed. They, of course, fell in love.

Their wedding was awfully small, as they now had to have private identities, lest they wanted to get murdered in their sleep- the number of enemies they had increased every day- but they were content with their tiny ceremony. Who else did they truly need to prove their love to more than one another? Their kick ass team of two did not last for very long as soon two babies, Randall and Judy, were brought into the equation. And from the forwards more and more children were brought into the seemingly desolate and quiet home until there were eleven serene children, seven boys and four girls. The first eight- Rude, Judet, Auron, Tseng, Tifa, Vincent, Yuffie, Loire and Reeve- seemingly inherited both of their parents' skill when it came to conflict, much to their satisfaction. It was with their ninth child, a little girl named Shiki, that a problem arose. Shiki was not anything like her parents and older siblings, it even seemed as though she were defected. At infancy she needed glasses, and the imperfections continued from there.

It did not matter as to what _Clarissa_ and _Godo_ thought, however, as they were never home to care for their _precious_ children anyway. Responsibility of care often fell onto the shoulders of their Aunt Pamela instead, despite her raising three children of her own. Aunt Pam was kind and loving like a mother should be, it confused the greatly when the other children in their school spoke of their families. Having a mommy and a daddy was traditional; apparently having an Aunt Pam was not. They asked her why their own mother and father only came back briefly- exchanging a few kisses on the cheeks before they were sent off again on yet another mission- and were heartbroken when she never had an answer. They supposed it was better this way, however; Aunt Pam and Uncle Godwin never commented on Shiki's difference. It was better for Shiki to never know that her parents thought her too weak to be any good. And it seemed it would stay that way as they decided children were too much responsibility and sent them away to live with other relatives. That was the last time Tifa saw Shiki, or any of her other siblings for that matter.

Tifa was then moved back to her birth town, the same little village her mother and her mother's mother was born in. She had always meant to come and visit, there was a lot of family there after all, but her mother had been insistent on not traveling back to the dreamy land where progression seemed to be a lost topic. Little Tifa Kahlyn Lockhart had been excited- this was an adventure. She would travel to a new world, it had seemed, and might actually make friends for the first time in her life. In all of her ten years of life Tifa had been completely and utterly lonely, knowing only the company of her siblings, aunt and uncle, and her cousins.

Her grandmother was more than happy to take her in, feeling as though a child would fill the void left by her empty nest. Tifa would take the place her youngest daughter Tifa never did, as Tifa Harjo died minutes after she took her first breath of bittersweet oxygen. And so Tifa was given the nickname of Little Tifa, as her grandmother had thought that that name was better suited for the child she would begin to raise as her own daughter. Tifa the second was the decidedly the best thing that could have happened for the elderly lady at her venerable age; she did everything Hakidonmuya could not.

At the ancient age of eighty-four, the gray lady could not have raised another child all on her own. It was at that age that she was beginning to no longer be able to care for herself. And then came her granddaughter- an angel, she was sure, sent from above- who cared for her better than her own children had. Tifa was gentle and caring, but stern and stubborn enough to combat the orneriness of her grandmother, but never treated her as if she was fragile. No, Tifa made sure her grandmother knew how much freedom and independence she had left. The arrangement was perfect for everyone, including Tifa as well.

Tifa was never sure how she would feel about working on a farm; it was just completely different from the town life she was regrettably used to. She rather liked the calm nights, the lazy feel of the village, and the feeling of nature surrounding her from the sun beating down on her back while she tends to the animals and crop to the sweet smell of fresh breeze coming over to the east of town. She enjoyed spending time with her grandmother in the house, getting to know each other over their cups of herbal tea as the sun rises and talking about everything they could think about, from topics of family and friends to 'what if food had feelings?' Her new teacher was, by her standards, perfect. He was nice, and his other students were all friendly enough. And finally, at last, she found her first friend.

His name was Cloud Strife and, at the time, he was very difficult to get to know, and while that was normally unappealing Tifa found that only spiked her interest in the young boy. With his golden hair, cobalt eyes, and creamy tan skin he looked as if he belonged in a land filled with sun. Tifa, with her raven hair, vermillion eyes, and paling flesh had the appearance of a child who never saw the light in her life. He had the appearance of an angel, to her demon, and she thought the match would be ironically perfect. The angel was wary of the demon hovering over his shoulder; he did not like the younger girl one bit. She spooked him slightly, as he found her advances towards him rather odd. Usually people just left him alone, and that was what he counted on. And yet, she never let up, so he decided to give her a chance.

There closeness did not happen overnight, but he began to tolerate her presence slowly. She did not have many friends, everyone viewed her as something ugly and disgusting, and perhaps Cloud was just taking pity on her. She was a chubby and tall child, with pudgy cheeks, cooked teeth and a nose that always ran- due to allergies of all the new plants she was surrounded by- and a protruding forehead. Her eyes were always sloppy and runny, squinty and filled to the brim with mucus. Her neck was almost nonexistent, her legs were short and her hands and feet were large. Tifa was an awkward and clumsy youth, something of an ugly duckling to the rest of the world. She was constantly picked on and bullied, until Cloud finally snapped and stepped in to help. That was when he finally acknowledged her as a friend.

They began to spend lots of time together so that he could help her with her Twilan, always practicing patience no matter how many times she tripped over every word and asked 'why?' constantly. In return she helped him with Bastionite, as that was her native tongue and he had a dream of joining a program in the Dark Continent when he was older. They were an odd pair together, that was for sure, as one moment they are helping each other study and then the next they are rolling around and beating the crap out of the other. Tifa's grandmother and Cloud's parents were very worried for their children, but after a while of that continuing nonstop, no matter how many times they had interfered, they gave up on trying to separate them.

By her thirteenth year they were best friends. They still fought often, but thankfully to the parents it occurred less and less. Her hair had grown longer so that it was now a little ways past her shoulders, and her body slowly began to become more proportionate. But that was not the only thing that was changing- the people were changing too. The bullying got more brutal, for one thing, as they now knew how to use the information they receive to make their victim hurt the most. Not only that, but the girls were getting taller, more beautiful, more mature. Their bodies were gaining more shape, and their faces more definition. Tifa found she was becoming envious of their physique and often asked her grandmother why she could not be more like them. Her grandmother just smiled weakly and ran her spindly fingers through her granddaughter's frizzed hair, saying, "why, my dear, you look just like me when I was your age!" That night Tifa cried her little heart out. She would turn out like her grandmother, that was for sure. She burnt all portraits that featured her that night.

Cloud offered no more solace than her grandmother did. He began to avoid girls more as they were becoming weird to him. Each and every girl, besides his best friend, was stepping over the edge into womanhood, and began to partake in lady activities. They were no longer the same to him; they left a sour taste in his mouth. And yet, he still kept close to Tifa and that confused her. When she asked why he was not weird around her too, he struggled to find an answer, stammering his words out so that she could barely decipher them with her still shaky Twilan. He said it was because she was his best friend, and she hadn't changed. She realized that he did not think of her like a girl. Needless to say more tears poured down her face.

At age fifteen she was convinced she was done growing, and that left her very self-conscious. Her breasts were small and perky, very near flat chested, and her hips were slight. She was much taller than every other girl and that made her feel like a giant. No longer had she any baby fat, or any fat at all for that matter. She was tall and gangly, long and lean, and she hated every ounce of her body. She felt clumsy and insecure and unloved. She was even taller than Cloud! Tifa hated when he would ask for her to grab something because he could not reach it; she hated it so much. Everything was a mess, everything was wrong' she still had not reached her womanhood yet. Most of all she felt weird.

Her so-called friends would never leave her alone, expressing their distaste for her presence none too secretly. They pointed out often how she could not cast a spell as simple as a small flame, that she was nothing special just completely human. No matter how hard she worked at trying to spark _something, nothing_ would every catch. It was hopeless; she really was just a human. She would sit in the back of her magic lessons, avoiding eye contact with her teacher for the whole year until she was finally switched out and placed in a combat-centered class by the tired teacher who could not get through to his pupil. It was amazing how fast she advanced in that class, exceeding the abilities of her classmates by far, so much so that only the master posed a challenge. She would get complimented often by onlookers, and threatened from her 'friends' who were jealous of her skill. Tifa worked hard in that class, pouring all of her frustrations from the day into her lessons and carefully learning new techniques. She was the star pupil, and that caused her more misery than it should have. She was going to be a killer, just like her parents.

She hated genetics more than anything else. Genetics caused her to be ugly. Genetics cut off her magical ties (she assumed). Genetics made her go _fucking_ insane wondering when her life would finally turn around. Why could she not be normal? Was this karma for something she did in a past life perhaps? She never found the answer as she was battered on her way to class. _"Clumsy little Tifa! What's the matter, you big baby? Going to go home and cry to your mommy? Oh, wait. You can't, can you? Oh, what a shame that is! Such a sad, pitiful life you live, you disgusting pig. I mean, come on: fat, ugly, orphan, awful at magic! What's next? You'll die alone. Have a nice life in solitude, you bitch."_ Fifteen year olds could be quite mean.

At sixteen the most horrendously amazing thing happened. She grew no more, at five feet and five inches she stayed put, but everything else evened out accordingly. Her shiny, sleek black hair cascaded beautifully down to the middle of her thighs. Her legs became as long and beautiful and alluring as her now swan-like neck. Her hips became womanlier, but she kept her slight appearance. The only thing that became not so slight would be her bust, which had enlarged dramatically. Much larger than she would have liked to deal with. Tifa's face was her best feature, so she thought; doll-like; soft and sweet. Round crimson eyes burned with passion that left bystanders in awe. Sharp smiling lips expressed the kindness she was originally never given. Tifa became very popular in her village, something she did not think would happen in her lifetime, but never fought against. Her silvery voice spoke two languages perfectly and clearly, and that made her exotic in their eyes.

Partners came easily to her now, men flocked to her in order to attempt to court her and she decided she would have to be a bit choosier now unless she wanted to take every man in Nibelheim out on at least one date. They were nice to her now, and she forgave everyone for their previous behavior fairly easily, but no matter how nice everyone was now, and no matter how many boys she went on dates with, there would always be time for Cloud. Cloud would always be her best friend, she decided, and she at that point could not picture life without him by her side. It was thinking like this that made the ethereal she-demon to fall in love with the radiant angel.

The best yet, in her opinion, was that she was finally normal. She could finally cast _something._ The doctors told her that although the power she possessed was feeble and minimal she would gain nothing more. Although there was slight disappointment, excitement trumped all else. She could do what she could not before. She finally fit in; she was, finally, no longer just a human.

* * *

Tifa

It was a beautiful and sunny Sunday noon and I was tending to the vegetable garden on my grandmother's beautiful farm. It has been a little over eight years since I originally moved in with my grandmother, which, in my opinion, was the best thing to happen to me in my whole life. While the bullying was less than perfect, it still beat interacting with no one while training to be the same killers my parents were. I shuddered at the thought of purposely taking another man's life. My parents may have been stonehearted, cold-blooded killers, but the same could not be said for me.

Although there was not much to remember back in Hollow Bastion I did still remember the family I purposefully left behind. _It is a shame,_ I thought, _that we never attempted to keep contact with each other._ Although I did miss my brothers and sisters dearly, I often talked about them with her grandmother just to fill the familial void her siblings left her with. I wondered often if they felt the same absence pain I did after leaving my original life behind. I would often try to contact them, but when our parents died we all got pulled in different directions and I had no idea where they ended up. Wherever they were, I hoped that they were as content as I was.

Almost four months ago my best friend left me behind, moving to Midgar in hopes of becoming a SOLDIER and protect Hollow Bastion. I was sad at first, but he promised to write to me constantly and he kept true to that up until two weeks before. Judging by what I had heard he was having a fine time there; the training was tough and at times brutal, but nothing he could not take. I just could not help but worry that something may have happened to him during his vacation of writing to me. But I could not help but hope that today would be the day I receives a letter from my favorite person, the man I have come to love. After all, he has not once forgotten to wish me a happy birthday before.

Just the thought of receiving a well-wishing letter from him made me feel giddy and warm on inside as I continued to dig out the sub terrain potatoes. The soft breeze caressed my face, bringing home the sweet smell of the meadow not too far away from where the farm was, nestled in a pocket near the mountains sheltering the countryside from potential invaders. Unfortunately, it blocks guests from entering as well, and villagers from departing. _Maybe that is why I haven't received any word from him in a while,_ I had thought to myself as I dusted off the last dirt ridden vegetable. _I mean, he wouldn't suddenly ignore me, would he?_ I surprised myself by not being able to come up with a reason why he would need me any longer. From the letters I had been sent, the men he worked with seemed amiable, jovial even for military men, and that making friends was not difficult even for the antisocial blonde.

There was a time I had sworn to myself that I would never forgive the heartless man for abandoning his country- _abandoning me_ \- so that he could fight under a different man. I was jealous of many things at that time, envious mostly of him: he got to leave Mount Nibel, something we had discussed doing together when I reached the appropriate age, and he got to fulfill his longest dream. Unlike him I had no idea what my dream was at the time. It was cloudy and cliché, I knew that much, surrounding a future of Cloud and I together, sincere and happy with many kids laughing and playing together. We would be a happy family, or so my delusional mind had me believe. Back then I never believed something could be _too_ perfect. I learned the hard way, like everyone does.

When Cloud left I felt heartbroken. We were supposed to leave together when we were both eighteen and legal. We would move somewhere peaceful, but lively, and battle life together, as best friends. We would fall in love and be happy, I added that part myself, secretly of course, but that was not the point. But Life herself made a deal with Death and James and Sofia Strife died in a house fire trying to protect their seven children. Cloud was a little messy after that, and just wanted to escape as soon as possible, but my grandmother had fallen ill and I had to make sure she was okay beforehand. He could not wait that long and left not long after to pursue his dream. His dream without me It had stung at first, but with the arrival of his first letter I realized he needed to do it and did not mean to hurt my feelings in any way by leaving me behind.

I understood his reasoning; I encouraged it in fact. Just because my life had yet to begin did not mean I could hold back another. So Cloud left with hardly a goodbye, which was fine by me at the time; I would not have known what to say regardless. It would have been nice if there was an extended invitation, so that when I was ready, which by that time I was, I could join him in his travels. The SOLDIER program was not exactly what I had in mind, but I was sure it would not be _too_ hard to find work in a city as large as Midgar. As wonderful as life in Nibelheim had been- not that I would ever speak bad of the village that fostered me, this had been my home for the prior nine years- life on the farm was not my calling. Even then as I sat back on my heels and wiped the sweat from my forehead, shaking my shirt to allow _some_ air to pass through, with the basket of fresh picked fruits and vegetables by my side, I knew that I would not, could not, live the rest of my life this way.

But I would deal until my grandmother was stable once more. She had been trying to push me out of the house since the end of junior year in high school, but I had to deny the chance of going to college; her health was always more important to me. At ninety-two years old I had to realize that her time on this world was very limited, but the optimistic part of me refused to see that. The woman who raised me for half of my life was a better mother to me than my real mother, and while she never coddled me like Aunt Pam and Uncle Godwin, she still taught me more about life than either of them. Life was something to be cherished and Death respected, not feared; that was but one lesson. And while I never feared my own demise, her's I had been a little antsy about. If she were to die so suddenly, there would be no saying what could happen to me. Only time would tell, and, unfortunately, time was running slim.

The thoughts sent a chill down my spine and I openly shivered despite summer being just around the corner. Anyone would have called me mad, but at the same time they would not have been wrong at all. Composing myself I stood up with the basket wrapped snugly in my arms and made my way through the fence and up the hill to the opened window by my front door. "Grandma!" I called. "I am going to take the produce down to town! Be back soon!"

A muffled, "okay!" was heard through the door, and with the sign of approval I made my way down to the heart of the village where I would be able to sell the fresh food. I glide down the cobble stepping stones placed on the crisp green grass placed to make the descent down the hill easier, and made my way through the white gate, shutting the door and slipping the hatch into place before turning and continuing my trek.

The town was bustling with life, people marching in and out of the buildings surrounding the main market circle, weaving in and out of the way of people to get to their desired stand. I was pushed and shoved this way and that by people in a hurry to get their things before it was sold out. Nibelheim did not receive traveling merchants; it was nearly impossible to get through Mt. Nibel without going over them. Because of this Nibelheim was very self-sufficient. We did not need to rely on trades; everyone in town had a skill that would contribute to the town's necessities. Weapons were rare- after all there was no need for armories when no one could enter out town in the first place- and jewelry was even rarer. There really was no need for jewelry when you were working hard all day. Who was there to please who was not satisfied by your craftsmanship or natural beauty? Normally the market place was never this busy, but when I saw where everyone was headed I easily understood.

There, right in the center of town, a small impressionable man was running a perfume booth. Glass bottles in varying shapes and sizes littered the tabletop, each with a different color in it. The energy surrounding the man flirting with his customers was high as he cooed to the ladies, telling them what 'parfum' would suit their natural flavor, was as high as the blend of fragrance that drifted my way. It was sweet, it was fruity, it was elegant, it was feminine, it was everything nice. It was also probably expensive, and that was something I could not deal with at the moment. There were more important things to spend money on than to allow myself this one vanity. I was content on walking by until I heard someone call out to me.

"My honey! Come and sample the finest parfums this here world has to offer!" Shuddering at his call- something about him was just a tad bit creepy- I turned to face him. His large, almost completely rectangular face with a prominent chin and cheekbones, thick red eyebrows that match crazy hair and a large flat nose all gave him a very distinct appearance. He was short, coming up to probably my chin, with stumpy, but thin legs that actually looked quite feminine. It seemed that he was sparkling, odd enough, and gesturing in my direction. "Come down; don't be shy!"

"Oh, no! There must be a mistake," I waved a hand not holding the basket in front of me and shook my head, taking one cautious step back. "I am not very interested. Sorry, I'll just be on my way." Turning around I pushed my way past the crowd of women, ignoring their hateful glares and going back to my original destination. I just need to sell the food and then I can be on my way; away from the tiny man and his crazy girls. Something like perfume can't be cheap and I knew for a fact that almost nobody in Nibelheim had money to waste.

"Wait right there, my dear! Do not step any further, or you will break my passionate heart!" Slowly I turned again to see the little man scrambling to catch up to me, clumsily banging into the poor women on his way to me. Curiously I watch as his red hair from afar is just as chaotic as up close, which reminds me of a certain blonde forever cursed with a permanent bed head. "Give me a chance, my love, to prove to you that I am the man you wish to seek you. Sample my parfum, and feel your love for me flourish!" I shook my head at his craziness and decide on taking another step back. His dark green eyes flash romantically and I remember shuddering at their intensity.

"So..." I tested; trying to find the correct words as a million thoughts ran through my head. _Is he a mage?_ "Like a love potion?" I settled for, watching as his eyebrows scrunch up in mild frustration. He struck another pose randomly, placing a hand on his forehead and bowing as if he were just publicly shamed, whipping one hand out in front of me, palm raised as if her were telling me to stop.

"No, my honey! Not a love potion! First of all this is a parfum- say it with me. Par~fum," he waited for a moment, eyebrows raised as if he thought I was actually going to say it. "Right... well anyway, secondly, I do not need to cast love on you. That would be like saying I need the help to make the ladies fall for me. As if! I, Ichiya Vandalay Kotobuki do not need help! I am irresistible as is." It was my turn to raise my eyebrow, biting my tongue before I said anything rude along the lines of 'I'm not interested.' "Bah! It is just you, my honey! The darlings back in my country are much easier to impress. That is not to say I don't enjoy a challenge."

"Your country? So you are not from here then?"

"That is for you to wish only for, my dear. I hail from a different continent entirely! Radiant Garden, my sweet home." Another pose was stricken, just as dramatic as before with extended arms, pointed fingers, and eyes staring directly into mine.

"Then how are you conversing with me?" I nearly screamed shocked at how an outlander knows Twilan. Sure, he could have learned it through his years of school, but Twilan was usually the last language anyone would be interested in taking. It was not popular, and it was hardly necessary. Anyone could go through their whole lives without knowing a single word in Twilan and they would be just as fulfilled as if they had known the dictionary back and forth. Gardenian and Bastionite, now those were important.

"Through the language," he paused momentarily for dramatic effect, bowing his head once more and changing his pose, "of _love_!" He allowed me to let that sink in for a moment, the moment, which I used to blink unsure if I should stop him, or let him continue to embarrass himself further. "Oh, yes! There is no such sweeter language than that shared between two passionate people! Oh, men! Yes, oh, yes! I can see it in your eyes, the admiration of true beauty!" _Beauty?_ "True love! Try not to be too upset, my honey, for I am not ready for such commitment! In a few years time I shall return to you, my love, and we can finally be together. I promise you that," he finished with a wink before trotting off to his stand, flirting with all the young ladies again. I stood where I was for a few minutes, blinking in a daze at the strange man before shaking the effects of the perfume out of my head and continuing- once more and hopefully with no more distractions. That would be irritating- to the correct building.

Finally at last, after more pushing and shoving past many familiar faces, I came across the shop I was looking for. Walking inside, a bell dings letting the woman inside know she has a customer. "Ooh~ I'll be right out!" She called from the back, and so I busied myself in the meantime, walking to the counter and placing my basket on the top. I made my way around the shop, picking the items I knew we would need that night for dinner, and breakfast in the morning: A package of beef, a loaf of bread, a gallon of milk and some cheese- sadly the cows have not been milking, costing Grandma and I some money to make up for that, as they have grown old. I would have to sell them so that they may be slaughtered- and some fresh fruits and vegetables. I waited by the counter for a few more minutes until the storeowner finally appears.

"Oh! Hello Tifa, darling! If I knew it was only you I would have been out a little faster. My apologies!" The elderly lady bowed slightly before shuffling behind the counter and started digging through my basket. "Oh, there is not much here, is there?" She asks solemnly. I have explained to her previously that there are problems with the land, that it has been constantly sowed and not left to fallow, leaving the earth barren of nutrients and helpful minerals. In times like that we would just rely on the animals, but the cows do not milk, the goats are getting dry, the chickens hardly lay and there is no young to sell. Times on the farm were getting difficult. "Unfortunately I can only offer twenty-thousand-six-hundred gil. I am awfully sorry, dear."

"No, no. No need to apologize. Thank you so much, ma'am. This will be able to get us by up until the next bill." Nibelheim suddenly seemed to be getting too expensive. Definitely more money than it was worth. _Maybe I would be able to convince Grandma to come and move with me back to Hollow Bastion._ The thought was ridiculous. That was the home she raised her kids in, raised her granddaughter in, and she would not give it up just to move to a city. Not to mention, if we could not afford Nibelheim, how would we afford somewhere like Midgar? It was all for naught; they would spiral towards bankruptcy at their rate, and no one would care otherwise. "Just these items when you get a chance please."

The lady nodded her head, moving the items into my basket for me to carry home. "Of course, deary. Are the cows still not milking?"

"And the goats not enough."

"I see... That will be two-hundred-eleven gil." I handed over the correct change, slipping the basket back onto my arm and bid her farewell. "Goodbye to you too, lovely! Send my well wishes to your grandmother as well, would you please?" I nod my head before making my way out of the store. With my new basket of groceries in hand, it was imperative that I made it home on time unless I wished for them to spoil. Realizing the crowd may as well still be there, as well as the Ichiya fellow, I decided upon a different route, a tad bit longer, but less time consuming than venturing through the heart of town. All the way I thought of what my future would bring. _Might I ever leave this dreaming village? Would I ever see Cloud again? What would happen to my grandmother?_ The questions danced dizzily in my head, making me so lost in my thoughts that I failed to notice two men standing directly in front of me.

I continued on my way forward, marching with my head down and thoughts pooling into my conscious, blocking out everything that surrounded me until I finally bumped into someone. With a yelp of distress, followed by the sound of flesh hitting pavement, I found myself sprawled awkwardly on the floor in front of two dark-looking, foreign men, with my legs bent and spread, and my arms laid out on my face, my basket upturned, laying on its side with its contents spilling out unceremoniously. For moments that probably equated to only a few seconds, but felt like minutes had passed, I lay on the ground, unmoving as I tried to recollect myself. The burning, stinging sensation on my elbows, forearms, and a leg tells me that I received a couple of abrasions from my graceful descent. The jarring pain in my head, on my back, and rump let me know that my hands did not catch me in time.

With a moan and a groan I continued to lay on the ground, momentarily collecting myself before realizing I was making quite a scene by doing nothing but laying prone on the dirt pavement. I shakily stood up, gathered my things, and glanced at my passive 'attackers,' taking in their appearances before concluding that I should have gotten the hell out of there before I even realized where _there_ was. They looked like bad news- _spoke_ like bad news. They were foreign, they were dark, and they were suspicious. Whatever business they had in Nibelheim was gnawing at me, the wild side of my conscious thought begging for me to confront them and demand to know their purpose, but the logical side of me was reminding me quite loudly that I had better high-tail it out of there before something- only my wild imagination in dreams to come would give me a story as to what may have happened- would occur, less pleasant than I would like to know, perhaps.

Apologizing quietly- before realizing they do not speak Twilan, so the necessity to apologize is null in the first place- I fastened my pace until I was around a nearby building, crouching behind a wall, hand over my mouth so my breathing was less obvious, listening to their conversation, hoping to have some inkling as to what they might have been saying. Carefully I peered my eyes beyond the wall, staring at the backs of the gentlemanly brutes I accidentally rammed into. I always had a way with first impressions.

"What exactly do you mean by, 'I do not know my way through here?' I thought you were _compétent_ in everything!" The black-haired man spoke first, whining to his silver-haired companion. He was tall and lovely, I noted- exotic in beauty, with milky skin, and dark spiky hair, which clearly accented his pale, but healthy, smooth-looking skin. His accent was heavy and familiar, and it took me a moment to realize he spoke my first tongue fluently. _Better than I do now,_ I had thought, which was why I had trouble understanding some words they were exchanging. Filling in the blanks would be easy enough, I suppose. _He really isn't from around here._ Of course, I probably would have known if he lived here, _everyone_ would have known. He was _radiant._ Evil, I was sure of it, but radiant.

" _Compétant?_ I _excelle_ in everything, you _damné bouffon,"_ the silver-haired man spat back with obvious disinterest caressing his words. His rich voice echoed in my ears as I was left in awe. It has been a while since I had last heard Bastionite, and it showed; I was apparently rusty enough to have forgotten a few words, or maybe I never knew them at all; I was ten after all. But yet, I did not mind that I had forgotten a part of my previous life, I did not feel as if I was missing out on anything. In fact, looking at the second man- shooter in stature, but poised with more dignity and higher authority that seemed to add more than a couple of inches onto him, and seeing him with skin as pale as the moon- I wondered if I was that ghostly when I lived on the dark continent. I much rather preferred my complexion in Twilight as compared to Hollow Bastion.

"Whatever, man. I am just tired and hungry. Can we please just find the meeting spot and go back home already? These people obviously know nothing of the rébellions, yeah? Let's just leave." _Rebellions? Rebellions? Was there a trouble near Nibelheim and we did not know about it? It couldn't be, no; nothing ever happens in the Nibel region. But at the same time it is not unlikely; the mountains cut off all ties with the other parts of the world, but still... It is rather unsettling. Blasphemy, that's all it could be. These men are foreigners, what do they know?_

"No, Zack. We cannot leave until we gather the _intel_ we need to complete our _mission,_ " the silver man clad in black stated clearly, and I could not help but shiver the second time I heard his voice. It is frightening how dark one could sound when speaking to a comrade. His entire persona made a dark statement, challenging any to try and best him, and if his air of dignity and confidence said anything, it would not be a very easy task. Deciding I heard enough, combined with the fact that those men struck a nervous chord deep in my spine, I reckoned it was about time to leave; I had heard enough anyway.

The walk back home had left me buzzing with excitement. My body quivered at the prospect of adventure. _I had an adventure today_. It was the most exciting thing to have happened to me, besides the gaining of power, even though it probably amounted to nothing in the end. It meant something to me, and that's what made it special. This was my secret, not even the two men standing at the gate knew I knew what they knew, and that was _exciting._ Not many thing s have happened to me, and this was the beginning of something new; I could feel it. Even as I threw open the door to my house and a wall of heat hit me from the oven baking fresh bread I was still shivering as if I were cold.

"Little Tifa, dear, you nearly startled me with the loud entrance," my grandmother scolded lightly, placing her knitting needles into her lap. She has been knitting since she was seven, a hobby she is too stubborn to give up despite her aged joints. 'I'll just work slower,' she always mumbled, 'its no big deal.' She loved her knitting, more than anything in the world. Well, the farm and I were higher, but she loved the soft click the metallic needles made when they scraped against each other, and the sense of creation. She loved creating. She was fantastic at telling stories too, and hopefully I learned a thing or two from her.

"Grandma, you will not believe what happened to me today." Finally, my life has turned into my own story. I refuse to be a background character ever again.

* * *

Hello again! I am so sorry it took forever to write this chapter, but it came in bouts of inspiration, sloth ambition filling the gaps of course. I have had the tab open on my computer so that I would not forget to continue writing, but more often than not I ignored it. I had work ending, school starting, it was all just getting sloppy as I rushed to tie up loose ends, so I am terribly sorry for those who were waiting for the next chapter; you have every right to be mad at me. Hopefully I will be able to write faster as I have found more time for reading actual books again, which usually has me inspired. Currently I am reading The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood on my own, and The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald for school. I love both of them and I recommend them to anyone who is interested in those genres. Anywho, it should be known that I do not own The Offspring, or basically anything at all in this story. So, yeah, review to pitch ideas, or let me know how I am doing. I am always up for suggestions or guesses.

 **Halcyon Eve-** Thank you very much! I was hoping that my writing has gotten better, since I tried so hard to improve myself instead of just shoving sentences together. I am trying to work on structure, and descriptions. The whole deal! I can always count on you to let me know what you think, and how I am doing, and for that I am eternally grateful. It is because of you that I feel inspiration to grow more as a writer. Maybe one day I will even be up to par with you! That is my current goal, at least. Hopefully this chapter is easier to understand. I would think it is considering my sister did not tell me outright that it did not make sense like she did with the last one. Thank you again! Until next time!

 **Numinous-Alqua-** Tifa's here! The story will be mostly in her point of view, if not her's then Sephiroth's, and occasionally it might be tossed in the direction of a character that is of relation to them. Thank you so much for reviewing, it means so much to me, as well as adding me to your alert list. Hopefully I do not fail your expectations! I am positive my brief vacation has already edged me in that direction, which I apologize for profusely. See you soon, I am sure of it!

Special thanks to Halcyon Eve and Numinous-Alqua for adding me to your alert list, and reviewing! Also, special thanks to Nirvanic for adding me to the alert list and for favoriting my story! You guys rock! I love you all!

-Grace of the Feathered Pen


	3. Fix You

_**Snow** **White Queen**_

 _When you try your best, but you don't succeed,_

 _When you get what you want, but not what you need,_

 _When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep,_

 _Stuck in reverse._

 _When the tears come streaming down your face,_

 _When you lose something you can't replace,_

 _When you love someone, but it goes to waste,_

 _Could it be worse?_

* * *

Tifa

Rain.

Streaming, pounding heavily against the paned glass window in my living room, falling gracefully from the sky in large droplets on that warm pre-summer morning. Occasionally a streak of lightning would strike through the sky, thunder crashing menacingly directly afterwards, echoing through the mountains creating a chorus of detonating properties. Majestic, triumphant, strong; the lightning was god-like and that made it frightening. I always loved the rain.

I loved to hear the pattering's the sky's teardrops made as they thundered heavily against the roof, streaming down past the window like a never ending waterfall, blurring the images outside completely. It always made me comfortable, as a child, to hear what was going on in the outside world, wondering if I ever was going to experience it myself. Now that I can, I never take it for granted. This is what brings life. Rainstorms.

The house was cold, the fire in the oven working hard to keep us warm as my grandmother and I sat side-by-side, blanket wrapped tight around our bodies as we sipped our cups of daily tea. It was days like those that I cherished the most. Grandma and I would snuggle up close and talk about anything we could think of. I would slip out later to care for the animals and make sure they were calm, and she would knit. Those were always my fondest memories.

"I really am glad you are here, my love," she would always start off saying in that gummy way of hers. Rubbing the sides of her teacup to warm her brittle palms, the backs of her hands covered in liver spots and tough, leathery skin. I used to love caressing her skin with mine, just to feel the different texture when I was but a child. I missed my childlike amazement and innocence, and I know she did too, but growing up was not too bad either. She helped me find that out.

"I am too, Grandma. Coming here was the greatest thing that has ever happened to me," I would say back, and we would both take another sip of our tea, content with the silence replaced by the howling wind and pitter-patter of water, and the fire crackling in the stove. I always used to wonder if my mother used to do this when she lived here. I used to look through the photo books my grandma kept of their childhood with pictures of us, my siblings, cousins and I towards the end. From the looks of it my mother was more of a daddy's girl. I never met my grandpa- he died before I was born- but grandma always claimed he was a stubborn son of a bitch, but she loved him nonetheless. Loved him a lot from the looks of it.

Maybe my mother would snuggle up with her father, or maybe she was always stone and had no capacity to love; that would not surprise me. Nevertheless I discontinue any thoughts of her, banishing them from my mind. I do not give a crap about her childhood, or whether or not it was before or after children that turned her into a monster. It must have been so difficult for her to leave her benevolent, naïve children in the hands of her doting sister, I'm sure.

Grandma shivered again, so I snuggled closer to her, basking in her warmth and allowing her to be enveloped in mine as well. She leaned in closer to me, resting her weary head on my shoulders, giving me permission to carry her weight for the moment as she gifts herself a time of aching freedom. Another bolt crashed in the sky outside the house, in a place that seemed so far away from the security of the blanket and my grandma. I would have stayed that way with her forever just to be reassured of her love. I loved her too.

"Tifa, dear," she croaked, rubbing the liver spots on the backs of her hands roughly with archaic, spindly fingers, "you really should not be so harsh on your mother." I moaned, I remember I did because Grandma cleared her throat directly afterwards and roughly took the palm of my hand in hers, tracing the design with a forlorn expression on her face. "She was always destined for a short life, her and her husband both. But look here, my love. The line of longevity, you will have a long life. You will find love, you will have- one, two, three, four, five- kids approximately," her fingers run over the lines of my palm tickling the surface of my skin with her butterfly touches. "Her skin was unwrinkled, her palms included to a minor degree, she did not have the same patterns as you. She was never meant to have a happy life," she solemnly stated, her eyes drooping in a sorrow left unspoken in reminder of a tortured past. Grandma never wanted to believe that her child would die before she did; she never wanted to know that her life was spiraling downwards after marriage.

"But you, you my love, are not destined to be like her, so wipe that ridiculous fear from your head," her head drooped forwards and her grip on me lessened, making it seem like she had fallen asleep before her shoulders began to shake, and her body began to quake, and her breath hitched. She was crying, and she never cried- not in front of me at least. She was strong, independent, and fierce- like a warrior of amazon caliber. She was my hero, and I was her protégée. The hero never cried, it just was not supposed to happen. I felt like a child who realized that their mother was not perfect for the first time and that baffled me. I never had that feeling before; it just did not seem possible for Grandma to ever be weak in any sense. And then I realized something truly devastating.

Grandma was old.

Ninety-two to be exact. And for the first time I realized she looked her age. Her hair was not exquisitely silver, but a dark gray that hinted at black ancestry, and was not smooth like silk similar to mine, but coarse and wiry and frizzled. Her eyes were not molten brown, but a runny, ruddy chocolate that was left too long out in the sun. She was not tall, nor was she strong, she was missing a lot of teeth. She was an elder lady and it is a terrible shame it took me this long to see it. Nine years living with her, and just now I have come to realize she is not what I always thought her to be. No, grandma was very much mortal. So mortal, in fact, that it probably would not even be too wrong to think that her end may be near, and that was a thought I never had before. Just pondering her mortality made me feel like I had just committed a heinous sin against my God. She was elderly, she was dying, and I was truly destined to be alone.

I cried with her too, and it was terribly messy, just as a crying woman is supposed to be. My nose ran, my eyes dripped and puffed, salty trails leaving red in its wake. Grandma looked to her side in a daze, wondering what just happened to her granddaughter that made her face twist in torture and melt off. Rain fell from my eyes and pounded against the old wooden floor, thunderous cries left my body shaking as lightning struck just outside the house, illuminating the room and our faces in a ghostly fashion.

The arm around me wrapped me tighter in embrace, pulling my head down to her bosom. I scratched and gripped at my eyes as the tears stung and caused an itchy sensation I wanted to be rid of sooner rather than later. Brittle fingers weaved with mine, creating a juxtaposition; the old and the young. Gently I turn her palm upwards and roll the tip of my pointer finger over the deep lines. "Tifa, I did not think you would be so effected by something so trivial as death." Long, but not eternal. "I mean, after ten years I would think that you would have not have started to care now of all times."

"No, Grandma," I sniffled, wondering just how much time was left for her at all, and "it isn't my mother I care about." At my simple statement her face contorted into a look of disturbance, clearly showing that something was bothering her.

"Well you should. First off, respect your elders, girl," she reached up and tugged on a lock of my hair roughly, so that she was almost teaching me a lesson in that old-fashioned way of hers. She glared lightly at me through her eyes that could barely see anymore, and yet she refused to wear glasses. She never really acted her age. "Secondly, you should. Without her you wouldn't be here, and I wouldn't have you. I am eternally thankful to my dear daughter, as she gave me the greatest gift I could have ever known," she ended her sentiment with a kiss to my crown before lying back, resting her heavy head on the back of our couch.

"Grandma, she isn't the one I am sad about."

She raised a thick eyebrow in inquiry, and then she realized what I meant. She captured the hand tracing her palm in hers and brought it up to her lips, placing a shaky and sloppy kiss on the surface, which I felt travel down to my very core. "You needn't worry about that, child. I am here for you and always will be. My hourglass is running out of time, but it will be flipped over soon and I shall live my life anew. Maybe I won't be directly next to you, but I will always walk this earth on my own two feet. Maybe our paths will cross, maybe we won't recognize each other, but Tifa, my granddaughter, my daughter, and you will always be mine. We will always be connected, our souls are tied." I choked up at her basic confirmation. She too does not believe her life left is very long.

After a moment of silence she picked her head back up and stared at me with a childlike gleam in her eyes, shining with mischief and laughter in abundance. "And who knows? Maybe this time I'll be blonde." I choked on my saliva briefly before staring at her in shocked bewilderment. She just laughed in amusement, a laugh that is hilarious and highly contagious.

A moan of "Grandma!"

A cry of "I'm serious!" We clung to each other laughing hideously after crying, so that in itself it was a sight to behold. "It would be nice for such a drastic change, don't you think?"

"No, I want you to be the exact same as you are now." I huffed in indignation after catching my breath. Releasing her hand in mine in order to cross my arms over my chest. I know how childish I was acting, but I don't care- it made her laugh harder, which is all I ever wish to do.

"Tifa, I will be the same person I always internally was. It's just the external presence that will differ. What is important- what makes me, me- will always be the same, and you shouldn't worry about that," she resolved with petting the hair she just pulled almost as if she was apologizing, which I knew she was not. She probably already forgot what she tugged moments prior, and if she did remember she is too stubborn to ever think about apologizing for something I _clearly_ deserved. "Besides change is a good thing. Always welcome change," with that conclusion she closes her eyes and leans back for a final time, clearly tired, so I decided it was time to leave.

"I'm going to go check on the animals now. Be right back."

"Alright, hurry now, dear. I have something I want to show you."

* * *

Tifa

The way to the barn had been slippery from the fresh layer of mud coating everything. My feet sloshed in and out of the sinking ground nearly getting stuck on multiple occasions before I pulled my boot-clad feet out with a _schlunk._ I loved watching the rain, wholly and truly did, still do to this day even, but walking outside in it was a whole other story. Outside it is cold and unforgiving, with fresh winds slicing against my cheeks while my body got soaked and chilled to the bones. But I did not come out here on my own doing; no, I came out here because my grandma needed me to. The animals needed me too; It's nice to feel needed sometimes, I think.

The door to the barn was painted the iconic red, but due to years of abuse the ruby color has chipped and peeled exposing the old and splintering pinewood. It's a heavy door that creaks when you open it, and I would be lying if I said I had not used this door before to help me build my strength. When I was younger and it was my first day to work with the animals I remember I could not open the door at all and it took my grandmother's help to ease it ajar. I was mortified because I was young, strong, spritely, whereas she was supposed to be old and frail. I took it upon myself to become stronger than the kind lady who adopted me.

It was a... silent competition. More so on my behalf than on hers. I wanted to be able to best her in everything, so I tried my hardest and very nearly succeeded. But Grandma was always better than me. Not in strength, I surpassed her in that, not in speed, I surpassed her in that, but in character. She was always a better person than me, and that is something I could not train myself for. So instead I took her lessons to heart and learned from her teachings. It was no surprise that with her patience and grace she is known as the best animal tamer in the West. I learned and I wanted to be her. We came up with a compromise; the next wild horse would be mine to tame.

One stormy day, much like this one, except in winter, a stallion as silver as starlight thundered past the house wild and carefree. I could not believe my eyes, that something so majestic and free looking as if it were at peace with the rest of the world could and would be the cause of my death if I went too close to it with no cautionary measures. It was such a rush, the adrenaline was pulsing through my veins and I... can't really recall what happened, what I did. I was too focused on the ethereal beauty, the bolt of silver lightning pawing the ground aggressively searching for hidden treats beneath the surface.

Pure- the most clean, untouched- white I have ever seen before in my life intercepted with tiny black spots. Silvery gossamer strands tangled by years of brutal winds and having never seen a brush before probably left painful knots to tear at the skin. Ivory hooves caked with mud and blood tells stories of the adventures the fearless horse may have endured. I was enraptured by the marvelous stories this beast might have been able to tell if he could have talked. The feats he must possess... I named him Mythique, a Bastionite term meaning mythical, because he looked and acted as if he were one of those horse in Grandma's children's books- the ones with horns.

I stared at him in the barn, my Mythique, and remembered the day I captured him in foggy detail. He had put up a fight, of course. Even left me with a scar on my left arm that had faded for the most part, but still burned whenever I was near him. He still hadn't been trained, despite it being almost six months later, but he was a tough nut to crack. I just did not have Grandma's same touch with unhandled beasts as she did. I refused to give up hope, though. Determination clouded my better judgment and as I approached the hornless unicorn with my hand raised I barely even noticed the mistrust in the beady black eyes of the stormy stallion.

His stall door was thrown open and carefully, as if he were testing the floor boards to make sure they were real and would not give under his heavy feet, scuffed and stomped on the floor beneath him, casually sniffing the hay and dirt scattered on the ground before lifting his nose high into the air in order to smell the storm. His eyes held no fear of the torrential downpour or the cracks and clashes of the lightning in the mountains, nor of me; he did not even regard me. He remembered where I stood, but he knew I would not dare interrupt him. A prince does not bow to a lowly servant after all.

All at once, in a speed too quick to even be remembered, he threw his weight forward and launched outside faster than a rocket could have gone. I blinked, unsure if what I just saw was a truth or an exaggeration of the mind, before I too gathered my wits together and ran to the door to check outside. Mythique ran forwards, into the sky he was born from until I was sure I could not see him again. He ran in circles, playing with me, testing me, trying to see if I would follow him outside and catch him again. I accepted the challenge, stepped out until I was getting wet all over again. He blinked, glared, judged me from his position across the field as I inched closer and closer to him, so as to not startle the Thunder God.

Lightning rained from the sky as if he summoned it and crashed down onto the ground before me. Startled I stepped back and halted my approach, weighing my options so to decide if the chase was even worth it. As it was, no matter how much the merciless wind should blow, the mountain would never bow down. Mythique would be untamable and perhaps it was high time to let him go and just _be_.

Instantaneously it seems, as soon as I had come to the aforethought perfect solution to free him, the rain pressed on our backs harder, the wind carried our hair faster, the thunder reached deafening levels, and the lightning had become dangerously bold. It struck blindly at its target and I felt unimaginable pain course through my body. My body crumpled to the floor in agony and I cried, my tears meshing with the sky's. The twitching body of my horse filled my vision, blurred through my melancholy and personal grief. The thunder- I could no longer hear it- crashed in the distance _somewhere_ but I could not tell you where. It was my fault he died, and I knew it. I also knew I should get out of there, go inside where it was safe, but I couldn't feel my body. It was numb, I was getting hypothermia, I had every possible chance to be the next victim, but I couldn't move.

Empty coal eyes pored into my own until I forced myself to glance away, just so I did not have to see the final moments of agony imprinted forever on his face. Instead I let my dying eyes drift over the previously luxurious coat, now blackened with the char of burnt skin as a snowflake-esque design fluttered against the trail of nerves, insides outside, exposed so that red and bleeding could be seen. Feeling returned in a way that I had not wanted it to. My body convulsed as the acidic scent of burning flesh lingered around my nostrils making me lose my meal. Shaking all the while I retched onto the ground only for it to be carried downhill with the streams. Now on my hands and knees, I clenched the grass tightly with shuddering and weakened hands, and screamed.

It started off light and the crescendoed into a cappella of a tortured girl sharing her grief with the skies because nobody else will listen to her. The cries were strangled, broken, mangled and overall ugly. It was a shame nobody heard it, they would have stopped holding me in such a perfect light, stopped putting me on a high pedestal and realized that I am no where near the type of person they thought I was. I had flaws, hell I was crying over a horse that hated me. Technically speaking I kidnapped the beast, and convinced myself that I rescued him. Turns out I just prolonged the inevitable; he still died in lightning.

The choked sobbing shuddered to a halt, and the tears ceased when common sense reigned once more. Shaking still, I stood on my feet that I felt distant to and laid a trembling kiss on the horses nose, right between the eyes, and stepped away. Turning and walking back to the barn the distance did not seem nearly as long as it should have, but that was due to my feet moving on auto-pilot while my head had a chance to absorb. I learned that I did not want to absorb anything. It was rather stubborn of me to want to shut everything out, but it gave me a sort of awkward comfort.

The animals must have known; it was the only logical reason all of their heads were bowed low and they were all deathly silent. As if I killed one of them- oh, wait. I did. Having done this many times before I automatically knew what to do. My hands were eerily steady as they poured the feed into the bins. Blankets were handed down to the remaining horse, and as I threw the wrap onto her back I could have sworn she was glaring at me. Her eyes, a sweet chocolate brown- they used to be as wild and distrusting as my own steed- held judgment that should have been unknown to a mare. It was a weird feeling knowing a horse was regarding me as an enemy for something she had no right to know.

She and Mythique had something going between them; for animals that do not choose life partners they were mated for life. At any point of his short life that he may be considered tame was when he was around her. She brought out the best in him, as if Lucy was his light. And I just happened to destroy that, ripped her other half away from her. She was right to hate me.

Oh, what was I thinking? I was probably overtaken with grief that I was delusional; it was the only _logical_ reason. But, of course, I was not thinking logic. How could I when something so precious of mine was ripped away from my grasp? It was an icy cold feeling, which froze all common sense. All I knew was that this horse was infuriated at me, staring so deep and intensely in my eyes that the brown seemed red at that moment and I could not seem to gather enough sense to turn away until the hand that was reaching into the bag of oats and filling the feed bin was bit into hard. I let out a yelp of pain and staggered backwards, clutching the injured hand to my chest as it throbbed in revolt. It felt like I had just slammed a door on it thrice, and looked like I had run a crescent shaped blade to the bones, which now lay broken.

Blood. The metallic scent stung my nose as it oozed past the loose flaps of my skin, spilling in amounts large enough for the globules to appear as black. I tasted it, the smell was hanging in the air fresh enough for me to savor. I nearly threw up at the sight of my own life water, but what really threw me off was seeing the cracked bones underneath the shiny passion-colored liquid rose. That is what caused me to lose my breakfast once more.

My mind was hazy from that point on, the animals were cared for enough and that was all that mattered. Dejected I slunk out of the old and rickety barn in pursuit of the safe haven called home. If I had known such trouble was to be caused by one horse... I suppose I should never have allowed that devilish horse to run, but wild horses need some freedom so that they can become accustomed to the domesticated life. It never dawned on me that he might try to run. Fury mixed into my cold blood as I thought more about the entire scenario. He was not a lesson, but from this point on he should be treated as such, and that seemed very impersonal, frigid, distant. I would never want to be regarded as a lesson after I passed and yet that seems to be the only thing life is good for. You learn from past mistakes, even if they were living, breathing beings. The entire prospect did not sit well with me at all, and yet there I was regarding the late horse as a lesson because what else could I do at the moment? I was agitated, furious, tragic, shivering, soaked, and distant all in one, and I had roughly thirteen more seconds to get rid of all of that before I confronted my grandmother again. She did not need a storm blowing into her house, that much I was certain of.

Alas I stood in front of the door no less than nine seconds later- with all of the huffing and puffing I did trying to get it all out of my system I did not even take heed, but rather sped up creating the opposite effect of what I originally intended- and my mood was none the better. So I came up with my most brilliant solution of the season and decided to stand in the rain a bit longer while I attempted to calm myself. The opposite effect actually took place; I was even more disturbed than I was before. The rain that day did not make me feel all _good_ and _warm_ and _tingly_ on the inside. The only tingling that was happening was the pins and needles that accompany the numbness of cold and wet bodies. My mood worsened when I realized that my idea was flawed and that was why it did not work out. Blatantly flawed and I paid no heed to that when I had _first_ came up with the accursed idea. A bath, now that was a good plan.

While managing my anger I opened the door slowly as to not disturb or scare the elder inside. Seeing as the coast was clear I pushed the door ajar further and stepped inside, quickly shutting the door behind me so the inside floor would not get flooded and muddy. My boots get kicked off on the mat, and my rain jacket gets hung up on the rack right next to the door. As I was shedding myself of my wet things I call out, "Grandma! I am finished! I am going to go take a quick bath and then we'll talk, okay?" Cautiously I make my way up the steps so that they don't create that horrendous squeak that hurts my ears, and make my way into the bathroom. Once the door behind me is shut, but not locked- we had a rule against locking the bathroom doors while bathing in case of an emergency- and began filling the tub, I burst into tears once more; she could not hear my wails over the splash of water hitting the hard floor.

I climbed into the bath and began rinsing my body in melancholy enjoying the scrape of my fingernails against my scalp as my fingers massaged the soap through my curling coccyx-length hair, and then watching the suds as they disappeared down the drain. The soap and general movement burned my hand, but I moved through the pain, taking some sort of sick pleasure in my misery. My singing sobs echoed off the wash chamber's walls and into my ears once more, built up into a tremendous gospel choir that held none of what I sound like in it. The appendages that were combing my vicious locks before were now grabbing at them, pulling them until I was sure I was going to begin to scream at that pain instead of the original emotional turmoil I left myself to deal with.

Hard and sharp, and yet I press deeper still, raking those unforgiving nails over the skin on my arms to try and rid myself of this skin I so despise. I can never do anything right, and never will be able to, I was so sure of it. Everything that has been wrong in my life thus far has been my fault, and solely my fault. Cloud left me alone because I decided I could not go with him yet; if I had just went I would not be so alone now. Mythique died because I let him out of his stall, and because I did not have enough sense to close the heavy wooden door behind me. The farm was dying because I haven't allowed it time to fallow. The amount of friends I had was pitiful because I was too queer for them. I got sent to live with my grandma in the first place because I was too hard to take care of, I was too much; why didn't they love me?

Was I never good enough for them? If I had known they wanted to be rid of me I certainly would have tried harder. They were my parents, and they were always supposed to love me, and I them. And yet I never went to their funeral when they did end up dying. It was on a mission, I believe. It was too much for them. If I were still their child perhaps I would have begged them not to go. The notion was irrational, they were independent, strong, and stubborn- they would not have listened to a fifteen-year-old girl blubber about the dangers of spy work. They were everyday heroes and they had expectations to live up to. In the most pathetic sense- in a way that no one expect would come from me who claimed everyday of my life that I hate them- they were _my_ heroes. There is something honorable in dying shamelessly for one's nation.

For a nine-year-old whose parents were one's to look up to it was hard to understand that she was not wanted. Those feelings of neglect were ones I had left untouched and let be shrouded in dark hatred, but were still raw with childish depression. The sobs racked through my body harder as I shuddered under the lukewarm water, salty tears intermingling with the freshwater intermingling with the blood on my arms and hand. There were knots I needed to untangle in my life and those involving family were best to be dealt with first, for sure.

It was time to get out of the basin. So I quickly ran my fingers through the charcoal threads diligently to be rid of the unseemly tangles that came with my prior scrubbing and traipsing wildly in the winds. When I stepped out of the tub the cold air bit deep into my skin and caused goose bumps to rise all across my body. I quickly wrapped a towel around my body before raising my eyes up to meet my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at me was... haggard looking, haunted even. Her arms were scratched and bloody, her hand was mutilated, her eyes were red and swollen, and her hair was in complete disarray, small amounts of blood clinging to ebony strands from when I idiotically ran my hands through it. It was not hard to remember that woman was I, and that was when I realized that I have lived my life the wrong way thus far. I needed excitement in my life to keep moving forwards. If I stayed in one place like a sitting duck I am most likely going to be shot at, and that is unfortunately what I have been doing this whole time. New bursts of confidence stung under my skin and pushed me towards a decision I was hesitating to make. Tonight I would tell grandma I was ready to leave Nibelheim for good.

Forgetting myself completely I pushed through the bathroom door in nothing but a towel and squeaked all the way downstairs to where the kind elderly lady was sitting and knitting on the familiar couch in the living room. She did not even bother to look up to see who it was, because, in all honesty, who else could it have possibly been? I had to present myself to let her know I had something important to say. "Grandma," I spoke firmly, but not unkindly, so that she would just glance at me, so I could have the attention I so desired. The silent request was granted, but with an unexpected twist.

"Yes, de-" She began to say, slowly lifting her gaze to mine before the needles in her hand flew to the floor and her gasping mouth was covered by wrinkled hands. "Little Ti-fa? What on earth happened to you, child! You-you-you... you look like you just ran from an angry chocobo! In a tornado!" She was nearly screaming, not in anger but in fright. And it took me longer than it should have to realize why.

"Wha-?" I glanced down at my body before blushing in embarrassment. I forgot to treat myself, brush my hair, and, worst of all, clothe myself before coming down the stairs. Ashamed I tried to cover my body from her gawking and leering, backing up a few steps and grinning in abashment. I was about to turn around and go take care of myself correctly, now at a loss of the confidence I had before, but grandma had a different idea.

"You sit down right this second and- and don't touch a thing. Do you understand me?" She glared, scaring me slightly at the seriousness that overtook the usual light-hearted lady. "I mean it, child. If you so much as bleed on anything, I swear I'll-"

"I won't touch I thing," I quietly promised, hanging my head low like a child caught doing something wrong, in order to put an end to her threats.

"You better not," She reminded me before slowly disappearing up the stairs to get the medical supplies. What was I thinking? Did I really think I could just leave that poor lady behind? I mean, I knew I brought on some hardships, that raising me was not always easy, but was it any better to think that she would be better off without me? Probably. All I caused was trouble. For someone so set on trying to make everyone's lives easier I was not doing a very good job. There I was, waiting solemnly on a couch I should have never dubbed as 'mine' because it most definitely was not mine, it was hers, while the woman who showed me the undying love and devotion I would never have known before that was gathering the necessary equipment to fix my mistakes. Perhaps leaving was not that bad of an idea for her sake, and that thought gave me more courage.

I had a few more minutes to formulate a game plan before Grandma came down the shaky steps with more than just the first aide supplies. In her safe and loving arms she held a box of unknown torturous things, also known as the first aide, a brush, and what looked like an old black nightdress that faded gray. I felt my raw heart burst at her small sentiments. It was not much, but it meant the world to me that she would do these things that I always thought a mother would. Out of the four mother figures I have had influence my life- my mother, Aunt Pam, Mrs. Strife, and my grandmother- I was the most grateful to my grandma. She took me in and treated me like one of her daughters and I could never ever repay her for everything she has ever done for me.

"Let's start with the hand," she mumbled and I could hear it in her voice, she was a little irritated that I could be so careless as to know I did such damage and then do _nothing_ about it. Also the fact that I damaged it so severely in the first place must have irked her, but she never said anything about it. She took my new hand in her old one and began examining it, prodding it with a cotton swab to assess the deep cut. After reviewing it she finally spoke again, "Looks like a bite. Did Mythique bite at you again?" There was a moment of silence as I tried to find a way to answer that without wallowing in misery again.

"Mythique actually... died..." I trailed off, wondering if I should just leave it there or not. Just saying that he died would raise questions of course, but it hurt to admit it right away, to finally say it out loud. She would ask anyway, and I would still be expected to answer, but it would not be me bringing it up. Would that have made it better? I could not see how, so I sucked in my gut, sat up straight and emotionlessly continued, "He got out into the storm and was struck by the lightning." In my mind that was said perfectly, but after it was said and done and I realized my body was quivering the notion that it was flawless was in shambles and I became aware that I most likely stuttered throughout my recital.

The gray lady was silent for a few moments, twenty-eight seconds actually- I counted because in my mind that made sense as if it was a normal thing to do. It would somehow gauge how monstrous I was. But she broke her silence, caused by me, and asked again, "So it wasn't your horse?" She somehow realized that the repetition of his name was causing distress in my emotional state and if anyone knew me better than my grandma did then they may as well know me better than myself.

"No, it was yours actually."

"Lucy?" Disbelief. Of course there was going to be denial, Lucy was an angel. She was the sweetest mare in the entire Nibel region. For Lucy to do something devilish it was unheard of. "Why would Lucy bite you?"

"She was mad at me. I killed her soul mate," I sounded like I have gone mad even to myself.

"Do not be so silly, dear. How could she have possibly known that?"

"I don't know," I felt childish for believing what I did, but I was convinced. She had to have known. She was not there; she did not see the hatred in the poor horse's eyes. It could not be mistaken for anything else. There would be no other reason as to why a horse such as Lucy would attempt to harm me.

She hummed for a minute softly cleaning the area with practiced but aged fingers, checking the bones still, prodding in some places, and pulling in others. Finally she pulled back a bit, nodded, and stared up into my eyes while I avoided hers in favor of staring into the muscly depths of my hand. "Good news," she started, "it isn't infected. I reckon the bath helped with that." I stayed silent, awaiting the bad news eagerly. I seemed to thrive on my own misfortune. "The bad news is the second, third, and fourth metacarpals are broken, so don't expect to do anything with your left hand for a while."

"How is that possible though?" I finally spoke up. "I just bathed while using my hands."

"Just don't do too much, okay? You don't want it to heal in a strange way. I trust you to take care of yourself; I am just going to use bandages to wrap this up in. No casts or anything. We can't really afford doctor's bill at the moment."

"Yeah, I know," We drifted into silence again as I watched her wrap my hand gently clockwise. Around and around the white cloth went all around my palm and up to my wrist, continuing from there and up to my arm for the scratches I accidentally inflicted upon myself. I never meant to make myself bleed. Not this much, anyway. She did the same for the other arm, minus the hand, until I felt as if I had more serious injuries on my arms than just a couple of scratches. I felt like a monster. When she was finished she sat back with a weary sigh that broke my heart more. "I'm sorry Grandma..." I choked.

"Shut up," she laughed merrily, as if what I had just said was a big joke instead of pitiful, half-sobbing apology. When she relaxed some she wiped a tear from her eye and gaily added, "I love caring for you, Tifa my dear," she beckoned me to sit forwards and whipped out the brush at her side, relaxing some more and brushing through my jet-black locks. "You know, I haven't done this since you were nine."

It was now my turn to laugh, a freeing action that made me feel ten thousand times better. "You insisted I should do it by myself. I was _nine,_ " I reminded her.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I didn't _miss it,_ " she pointed out with a small smile playing on her droopy lips. I wondered then if I would look like her when I reached ninety-two years old. It then hit me that I would not mind looking like her if I could just _be_ like her. She was my light, and without her I would surely submit to darkness. She has been the one to keep me afloat throughout all of these years, and I could not imagine a day in my life without her still breathing. It was an incredibly dangerous thing to think and rely on as she was _ninety-two_ and I had to better remind myself of that. She was mortal, just as much as I am, no matter how eternal she always seemed.

"Hey, Grandma? I was thinking." I began, hoping that I could segway the conversation of our past into something of my future. She would not oppose the fact of my moving on, she would absolutely encourage me to, but it was I that needed to know that she would be all okay.

"Yes, my love? Go on now don't be shy. God knows you weren't ten minutes ago when you came flouncing down the stairs in nothing but a flimsy towel to cover your decency," I had the audacity to blush and glance to the side as she still combed through my ratty knots. Forgetting momentarily what I had to say, I tasted my tongue, rolling it in between my teeth before my final 'aha!' moment cleared my memory.

"I was thinking that maybe it was time for me to-" My words trailed off as I looked into her molten chocolate eyes and was reminded of my original reasons to stay. "-To reconnect with family. I think I have spent enough time away to 'rehabilitate' per se, and it is high time I get in touch with my siblings again," I mumbled looking at the floor instead of her face. Wincing at a particularly painful knot, which I heard her murmured apology, I berated myself for even thinking of leaving her alone to care for herself. She would not be able to manage the farm all on her own. Hell, she isn't allowed to run errands anymore because it is too far and the walk is too dangerous.

"Oh, Little Tifa! That is a wonderful idea! Oh, I knew you would come around," she declared while wagging a finger in my face in a way that screamed 'I told you so.' And yet I could not meet her eyes. It was impossible for me to do. No, I hadn't technically lied to her, I am not too sure I would be able to, I do want to see my sisters and brothers again, but that was not what I intended to say. "There, done! I can go get some contact information if you would like."

"No, that's okay. It can wait," I replied hesitantly. If I would just allow myself a moment to breathe maybe I could still get out of there with the permission of the only mother I will ever know. Slowly I breathed deeply in and out, holding in the breath for five seconds before releasing and starting over again. My gusto returned in fragments with each deep breath and I knew that I was doing the right thing ultimately. She would tell me if she needs me, wouldn't she? "Grandma, I-"

"Hold that thought, darling, and clothe yourself. It is hard to hold a conversation with you when you are practically nude on the sofa," she interrupted, and it was for a good reason to. I wouldn't want to talk to my grandmother while she was butt naked and only wearing a thin piece of cloth to cover her with. I relented and grabbed my clothes and disappeared up the stairs and into my room. The towel dropped to the floor heavily, soaked through with water and stained only a tiny bit red. We would not throw it out though; it was still a good towel. The black nightshirt was yanked over my head so quickly I very nearly put it on backwards. I momentarily confused myself with the front and the back. Not to mention I had to do it all with the use of only one arm- I never realized how hard it was to do things with only one hand.

In an attempt not to rush anything further I properly hung up the towel on a rack in the bathroom, and decided to take a detour into Grandma's room before going back downstairs. I knew that in a box under her bed she kept portraits and letters from her entire life: her memories as a kid, her memories of her kids, her memories of me, and her memories, although there were few of them, of her other grandkids. It would be good to have as a distraction.

"Grandma!" I called as I began to descend the broken stairs, clutching the book in my good hand. The familiar clinking of swords was all I heard as I walked into the living room. She seemed to have picked up her knitting needles again and was resuming where she left off at her dexterous pace that I could never keep up with no matter how hard I tried. She did not bother looking up from her project, nor give any sign of recognition that she heard me, but I knew she had. "Grandma, I found the box and I thought we would look through it together." She flashed her gummy smile and set down her twin swords before standing and hobbling towards the stairs.

"Sounds great, my love. Let me just run to the bathroom real quick." She added with a chuckle before starting up the steps. "Oh, I wouldn't know what to do if _I_ broke my hand," she laughed again. "I wouldn't be able to knit! I would die of boredom!" I smiled sadly, not that she saw since her back was towards me. The spoken term of her death sent a shudder through my body. She doesn't know I have been thinking of this for the entire day, and it has been bugging me ever since. She would just call me foolish of course, that she would sooner argue with Death himself than submit too easily, but that was just her being ornery. I sat back on the sofa where I was no longer than thirty minutes before and waited for her to return, flipping through some of the pictures with a smile on my face. My favorites were of her as a child where she smiled like a fairy. I liked the pictures of her surrounded by her kids, smiling down on them with such unspeakable pride it made my heart swell with admiration.

The ones in the back were great too, where she collected updated paintings of her grandchildren that she obtained from the people who have raised them. I did not spend as much time looking through those that night, because there were two in particular that caught my attention. Two kids I have never seen before around the ages of seven and three perhaps were included and it made me wonder, did the elders have children? Was I an aunt? Was our mother a grandmother? Was Grandma a great-grandmother? That caused an internal panic. How much of their lives have I missed when I selfishly declined to keep contact with them? Were any of them married? Did they even consider inviting me? Do they even remember me? I surprised myself with having yet another tear roll down my face. I was very weepy that day, but I could forgive myself for that; it was a really bad day.

I allowed myself to weep silently, caressing the pictures of my beloved siblings that I hadn't granted much thought towards, praying that they would one day forgive me for my selfishness. My attention was only diverted by the ever-impressive crash of lightning and his lover thunder as they wrecked the sky with their power, forever together. The sound created a distraction for the thumping down the steps and a high-pitched squeal that followed. It was as the thunder and lightning are married that the squeak and those steps are. And then I realized, the steps squeak, not squeal, nor do they thump. I dashed from my position on the cushions, not caring that the box was flung from my lap and onto the floor. I rushed to the base of the stairs and screamed.

There, there was a sight to behold. Lying there on the cold wooden floor was the body of the only woman who showed me love, who took me under her wing and showed me the meaning of life. She taught me everything I needed to know, and gave me expectations to look forward to. There she was laying on the floor at my feet, a scream forever plastered on her face as her eyes shut in anticipation of the fall. I fell to my knees and checked in vain for any sign that she may be breathing, but it was all for naught. I don't know what exactly I was waiting for, by crying, "Wake up, Grandma! Please don't do this to me!" I think I was half expecting her to jump up and proclaim, 'I got you!' but I already knew she could not be capable of doing that. My roars surpassed that of the outsides in agony unfit to describe in words. This was truly the worst feeling out of everything I had felt that day. If there were one thing that told me so more than anything else it would be her positioning. Heads were naturally not supposed to be backwards.

She was dead.

* * *

It did not take so long to update this chapter, so I suppose I can say that I am learning? I can't promise the same production, however. Maybe I can get one more chapter out before November, but the thing is this year I want to participate in Nanowrimo, which stands for National Novel Writing Month and you can find more information on their website .org. For anyone who is also participating and wants to become writing buddies with me, my username is jeparisi4. I could really use the help if anyone is at all interested in also participating. Speaking of contacting me outside of Fanfiction, which I am sure you all know you can reach me through this account too, you can find my Tumblr, helpwithoutheart. I have a Deviant Art as well, but it is kind of worthless to mention that seeing as I don't really post anything at all.

Now for the boring thing; the disclaimer. I still do not own Final Fantasy, nor do I own the song Fix You or Coldplay. That would be cool though.

Now for the thankful thing! Thank you Akasui for adding me to your favorites list! I always get so happy about the little things like that, it's kind of goofy. My little sister always just gives me a look to silence me when I boast about these kinds of things. She is a delightful little thing. And thank you Pitsuko and Shiranai Atsune for adding me to their alert list! Being recognized like this it heart warming. Thank you guys for inspiring me to write more. Honestly, it is the people who show interest in my story that makes me want to write it.

So I suppose that is the end of this long author's note. Continue reading to find out what happens next, obviously. Keep being awesome and lovely people, and remember to send me messages about anything! I love talking to you guys! Thank you, and see you next time hopefully sometime this month.

-Grace of the Feathered Pen


	4. Hakidonmuya (So Long & Goodnight)

_**Snow** **White Queen**_

 _Came a time_

 _When every star fall brought you to tears again_

 _We are the very hurt you sold_

 _And what's the worst you take (worst you take)_

 _From every heart you break (heart you break)_

 _And like the blade you stain (blade you stain)_

 _Well, I've been holding on tonight_

 _What's the worst thing I can say?_

 _Things are better if I stay_

 _So long and goodnight_

 _So long and goodnight_

 _And if you carry on this way_

 _Things are better if I stay_

 _So long and goodnight_

 _So long and goodnight_

 _Can you hear me?_

 _Are you near me?_

 _Can we pretend_

 _To leave? And then_

 _We'll meet again_

 _When both our cars collide._

* * *

Tifa

The wind howled through the valley as we solemnly marched through the mountains. The hearse was causing a lag and I heard the men grumble and moan under their breaths. During the whole trail they complained and whined about the distance as if they did not care about the ceremony at all. As if it did not matter to them that the lady who helped them all was now residing in the eternal bed they lugged about like oafs. As if they held no sympathy towards the fact that her biggest fan, the one who loved her the most, the devastated, depressed granddaughter was only ten feet behind them, following in silence as the cloud above her head darkened and grew.

"Gah! This thing is so _fucking_ heavy!" _That's my grandmother..._

"I know, man! The burial site is too far. And we have to get there on foot!"

"Why the fuck is it in the mountain, anyway?"

The brutes continue complaining back and forth to one another, but their senseless noise is in vain. It cannot reach my ears, nothing can. They have numbed, become deafened by their cruel and selfish words. Perhaps they would not be saying the same things if it had been their grandmother that passed, or their mother, or their father, or anyone they could have ever cared about. But if they did not care about my grandma, who was everyone's grandmother, than why would they have enough human emotion to care if one of their own was sleeping in the casket they carry. Would they force themselves to care? Sink into a comfortable façade that would fool everyone into offering the pity they believe they deserve because it was a burden loving them? It is a burden, I think, to love someone if they were only going to die anyway.

As a young girl, two or so years after moving to my safe haven, I toyed with the idea of a future for myself. I would marry someone charming, a warrior who had fought his way to win my heart, someone who would stop at nothing to give me the happiness he thought I deserved, and in turn I would give him my love, and he would be content knowing that he has succeeded in his life pursuit. We would be sweet together, laying bathing in the sun somewhere grassy and flowery, fingers interweaved and eyes laughing as we stared deeply into the depths of the other's soul and every so often shared a sentimental kiss. We would live in Nibelheim so I could be near my grandma and Cloud- although in future versions of this day I always thought it would be Cloud I wed- and his family. He would give me my own family; a girl and then a boy so that she could protect him and I would proudly smile and say she was reversing society's roles. Everything would be glossy and perfect, it was always nice to dream things perfect because it was an escape from an imperfect reality.

Grandma would have been happy with the way my life was planned out for me. She would offer to babysit her great-grandchildren and joke about how they were really _great_ grandchildren. I would have gone to the general store and picked out the fabric needed for a dress, and she and I would have sat down together and sown one together. She would have wanted it to be sensible, I would have wanted it to be stunning. Our creation- no matter what it turned out to be, it would have been perfect in any way- it would have been the poetic symbolism I needed to guide me from our life together into a new life with a new person. She would be there, sitting front row at the church we attended watching me say my vows to the man I loved and the one she approved of while she cried tears of unrestrained joy. She would be sad I was leaving her, but ultimately happy for me. Cloud's father, James Strife, would have walked me down the aisle and gave me away, as he was a father figure to me too. It would have all been complete. I would have gotten my fairytale wedding, sure, but my grandmother would have been there to cheer me up and warm my feet before they got too cold and I decided not to marry. She never saw me in my white dress. The last time I see her I am wearing a black one instead.

The black dress that is currently absorbing the unexpected heat that is bearing down on all of our backs, which is only really supposed to happen once summer officially starts. Besides, it is never supposed to be this hot in Twilight, but it seems a heat wave wanted to make its presence known. I wish it had rained, the pathetic fallacy would have reflected my life at the current moment and made everyone else feel my misery. Instead I was stuck with my own personal dark cloud hovering above my head, wishing things were different. I wish it were I in that coffin; surely I deserved it more.

The heels of my worn-down boots sunk into the grass, disappearing beneath mounds of dirt only to reappear as dirty and distastefully soiled items. The arch hurt my feet and the backs dug into my skin and rubs it raw, my toes were squeezed together and I am almost positive I acquired a couple of blisters along the trek. At any point during the day I could have taken them off, but I did not for one sole reason and that was not an intention to be stunning. The shoes kept me grounded; I knew I had to be honest with myself. I felt numb, detached, the pain gave me something to focus on, something to make me feel human. At any moment I felt my feet would cease connection with the ground and I would fly away, drifting up and up until I was gone forever. Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

Ahead the grumbling men continued their harsh chatter with one another, trying to keep silent, as it was disrespectful to speak during such a cherish-able moment. They probably did not even realize I was listening, maybe they did and they just did not care, but after a mental tirade it was nice to try and think them as humans. We are all mortal, after all, and holding grudges for too long is a tiring thing. I never admitted it to myself, it was always easier to just claim one thing forever than go and change that decision later, but I forgave my parents shortly before their death. It was nice to think of them as human again right before they tested their mortality for the final time.

My soggy eyes drifted over to the sleek black cover glistening in the sun and for the first time in the three days it took the arrangements to finally finalize I saw my reflection. I refused to look in the mirror and see all of the traits she and I had in common. There were many after all. I used to be upset by things like that, but why should I have been? It was a useless argument. I wanted to be beautiful, I got it and I did not care, because it was all a trivial matter. I just felt blessed to have even had anything in common with a woman as saintly as she. She and I were never religious people. Sure we went to church, but only as to fulfill the social requirement of the status quo. We believed more in the force of nature as a whole than the power of one almighty God. Religion was too corrupt, too coincidental to mean anything, and I agreed with everything she told me. I did not need to celebrate a God, pray to a God when she was the only guide I ever needed in life.

Even then she guided me like a torch in the night to the final destination place, the lane of reprieve in which she would lie. The image of her grave was burned in my mind before I even had a chance to see it. If this were Destiny Islands perhaps my mindset would have been different. Instead of mourning I would have celebrated her happy and long life. Living on the islands would have been easier for sure, but I never had the choice. No one ever asked me where I wanted to live; they all knew the answer. I was happy in Twilight, but Hollow Bastion was calling out to me, tempting me with promises of a more successful future. As if my destiny lay there instead of in the isles where it is emblazoned on its title. My best friend was waiting for me in Bastion, I knew it; waiting for me to come to him. I could not stay here much longer now that the very body that made this land, this own little quiet world, special has left without any warning other than the clear indication of age I managed to forget about for so long.

"So long," they tirelessly complained as we trekked over the last hill, the Valley of the Lost looming directly in front of us, clear as day, but as ominous and foreboding as night. For the first time in my life I wish I had never met her. I would have never had this pain that is associated with having loved someone. I had loved my siblings and mourned silently for a short period of time my separation to them, but I always convinced myself that I would see them once more; that was my goal once I was set free. The thought of meeting my family with my guardian was daunting enough, but without was enough to make me cower and forget ever wanting to reconnect the fallen pieces of my life even if it was starting with the people who would understand me the most. If there were anyone left in the world that would be able to sympathize with me and actually mean it, it would have to be the people who survived Hell with me.

One Hell after another, one-step at a time; that would be my motto from that period on. Perhaps denying a deep connection with anyone else would be the right way to go. After all, everyone I have ever loved disappeared before my very eyes. Although I never truly forgave them I loved my parents, even if they neglected us and made us feel as though we were objects instead of people. I hated them with a burning passion, but could not stop myself from loving them just as fiercely. My siblings were ripped from my very grasp into the awaiting hands of other family members never to be seen by me again, or so I thought at least. The Strife family, disassembled after the tragic house fire that nearly set the whole town aflame. Cloud, who was never quite the same after that, fled the scene while refusing to answer my summons. My horse that perished due to my absent-mindedly not shutting the door all the way closed; my grandmother who slipped, most probably on water waiting miserably on the steps after I had taken my shower. Perhaps if my life has taught me anything it would be to never love again.

That was an impossible feat, and I knew it. There were many impossible things that occurred during my life, a couple of them making me think I would never recover, but if there was one thing I learned from my hard life it would have to be to keep your chin up high and strong, unyielding to the rebelling forces that would try to weigh you down. So I stuck my chin in the air in an act of defiance and stumbled forward, past the salty men who were even more heartless than my parents, and joined the rest of the somber parade dressed in dusky colors. But these were the people I belonged to, depressed people who were all mourning in their own ways, but lively still with the spirit of resurrected light struck in their eyes. It was there that I met him, dressed in all black like the rest of the party, but somehow he stuck out to me in a way I could not exactly put my finger on, but it was there. Fate must have been smiling upon me that heartless day for he was the unknown, and perhaps unwilling, light shining at the back of the bleak tunnel I managed to lose myself in.

It was around the time we all stopped moving, when the men finally submitted to silence and lowered the casket into the six-foot deep hole made in the earth, that I broke down into tears, more than I had cried any other day prior. I was embarrassed of the sheer amount of pure, unadulterated emotion I was showing in front of nearly the whole town. Anyone there could have taken one look at me and seen not the beauty that I had for years wished for, but the blubbering mess, a slip of a woman that I always knew I was. My skin prickled and burned as I _felt_ the eyes of the spectators' glare and roll all over my body, judgment reigning clearly in the backs of their minds. However, when gathered enough bravado to glance upwards I realized no one was even paying me any mind. Everyone was mourning in their own ways, trapped in their own tear filled worlds, even the men who were complaining less than ten minutes ago were left with their heads hanging while tears slipped downwards from their somber eyes silently.

I resigned myself to violently shuddering under the wink of the hot, hot sun while the wind carelessly whistled a heart wrenching tune I promised myself I would always remember, but forgot once the howling came to an end. A chorus of sniffles and choking breaths rang through the mountains that surrounded us, effectively harming such a peaceful image. All around Mt. Nibel smiled down upon us, bowing their heads in sympathy and shielding us from the unforgiving sunlight. Grandma was a Nibelheim woman, born and raised in that very town, and she got her wish, the one thing she always wanted; she was buried there too.

She knew everyone in town by their first and last names, and probably their middle name too- I would not be surprised in the least, however I wished I had got to know everyone the same. I hardly knew the people I graduated with, let alone the entire town. There were only a few people I had prided myself upon knowing, but that was nearly it. I knew some peoples' names, but not who they were and I felt bad for that, especially since they were gathered there mourning the death of _my_ grandmother as if she were _theirs_ as well. There, dabbing at their eyes as if she had touched their hearts the same, and she probably had. Everyone loved my grandmother, often coming over and bringing her gifts, freshly picked apples, fresh baked cookie, homemade pie, whatever they could do to please her they did. But the one who stuck out the most to me was the man standing directly across the recently made pile of dirt between us, with his head bowed low and a pretty brunette sniffling by his side.

Vincent Valentine, an enigma, the same age as me, but one grade lower, was a person I had no idea who he was outside of his name. He was a friend of Lucrecia, who was a year older than me, and that is all I knew. He was secretive and seemingly stonehearted, two things that prevented me from getting to know him. He wore black and scarlet usually, which scared enough people away that he was idolized as mysterious. It was a paradox. His hair was as black as mine, but his eyes were bloodier; a bright red that held your gaze leaving you enraptured and unable to look away. He was quiet, but gave off the impression of someone dangerous that girls were drawn to him, but he shot them all down leaving only Lucrecia to keep him company.

It was weird to see him show any emotion at all, let alone grief. But him and my grandma were fairly close; at least that is what it seemed to me. Often he would take her for a walk while I was out doing fieldwork, not sparing me a glance; he was not coming to see me after all. She would come back laughing and picking on him while he returned sheepish and irritated, but bemused overall. She thought of him like a grandson, and would often call him that. They had an adorable relationship, so while it was strange to see him cry at all, it is not surprising that it was because of my grandma.

He probably felt my staring; I must have been staring for at least two minutes after all, because he looked up and bore deep into my eyes. It was as awkward as holding hands on a first date, but I could not look away despite the fact that my brain was yelling at me to get a grip and be _normal_ like continuing to express sorrow for the fresh pile of dirt at our feet. Instead I watched intently as he raised a black brow and glanced behind him before turning back to stare at me. My breath hitched in my throat and I was nearly choking on my own saliva before swallowing visibly. We stared longer, a heat between us indescribable, but so familiar that I would not dare look away. There was this pull to him; I just wanted to wrap myself in his arms and stay there because I knew I would be safer there than I was here in the judgmental open. Do not take any words out of my mouth, there was by no means any romantic feeling between him and I, just ones of certain familiarity that closed my eyes and made me remember.

The way he walked towards me, after patting Lucrecia on the arm and letting her know he would be right back, was like a predator stalking its prey, but in the unorthodox situation where the animal knows that danger is coming but cannot move. Ruby irises stare me down as he slinks around the fresh grave slowly and with a grace similar to a cat that up until that point I was sure it was impossible for man to possess, but there he was in all of his devilish perfection, just as real and mortal as all the rest of us. Our eyes were linked the whole time, and it felt as if it had been five minutes since he began that encursed pace, while in reality it probably had not covered the span of a full minute. I was caught in a spell that I could not break even if I wanted to.

He approached me steadily, only stopping once he was the desired distance away from me. His mouth opened, his lips set in a frown and his eyebrows slanted in a position expressing his clear confusion. There were many ways the conversation could have gone, the possibilities infinite, the list endless, one start could have finished in a different fashion than if another start was used. An entire friendship could have been easily formed, or with a terribly difficult start. I was prepared for the unknown, but not at all for old news. He surprised me into silence and near tears for the umpteenth time that day, but I never exactly figured out the reason why.

"Tifa Kisaragi?" He questioned as if he were unsure that was I, but that would be a ridiculous thought. You cannot simply move to a new town, change your name, and then be mistakenly called that name some years into your future; it was preposterous! I was horrified, and rightly so. I moved away to get away; I never wanted to hear that name again. Yet, lo and behold, a man whose striking familiarity was increasing second by second greeted me by my former alias, the one I had sworn upon to never be heard of again unless my grandmother called upon me in the scarce possibility I had done something naughty. But the more I thought about it the more it began to make sense. Here was this man that my grandmother had known well, and while Vincent and I had gone to the same school we never really knew each other, so she could have easily told him my real name and that would explain why he knew my most well kept secret. Obviously not kept well enough, but that mistake was none my doing.

Instead I stuck my hand out formally and shook his hand, a sad smile gracing my probably pale-stricken face from the shock I had just received, although he did not comment on it, nor did he react in any way, so my flush must have been in my own imagination. He himself seemed quite pale; he always did though, which was not a defining feature of Nibel people. We were tan by nature, and he looked as though he stayed away from the sun if and when he could help it. It was an odd yet refreshing sight, and when he said my name I swear I heard a Bastionite accent forced behind the native Twilan tongue.

"Hi, sorry, yes and no. You may call me Tifa Lockhart. I am sorry if my grandma had prior introduced me as Tifa Kisaragi, but I have long since given up that name. I remember you being close to my grandmother? She often referred to you as her grandson; it was actually pretty cute. I never really got to thank you for taking her on those walks before, it was incredibly nice of you considering I was often busy with the fieldwork," I rambled, speaking a little fast because something about him was so bewildering, especially not that I knew he knew more about me than I knew about him. I suppose while out on those walks grandma would talk about me, like the stereotypical grandmother would. Maybe it was his intoxicating scent of gun smoke and fire mixed with an addicting something masculine, or the way his face fell- not in sadness, but something of kin- after what I had said, that drew me in.

"No, I know who you are," he solemnly replied with the natural slap of mystery tagged on that left me baffled and my jaw hanging slightly open. He was barely amused, but distraught and just a fraction uncomfortable as if he misjudged the situation entirely. Had I missed out on something? Have we conversed before? Or perhaps from all the conversations with my grandmother he thought he actually knew me? I do not think I would forget having conversed with someone so like him before. "She was my grandmother too," he tacked on. So that was it? He was a cousin? I do not exactly remember speaking to him still, but that made a bit more sense why my grandmother referred to him as her grandson.

"Oh, I am terribly sorry. I don't exactly remember being related to any Valentine's. Your name is Vincent, correct?" I eyed him carefully, scrutinizing his movements, his expressions, _anything_ carefully for a hint as to what he may be thinking. He was not exactly an emotional character, and was more reserved than I had originally anticipated, but after being friends with Cloud for so long I was used to reading people. His eyes narrowed as he took me in as well, scanning over me carefully for a hint to something that I never found out. I could not read minds after all.

Finally he spoke up after a long deliberate pause that made me feel guilty even though I did nothing wrong. "You aren't," another lengthy pause as he shifted the weight slowly from one foot to the other, thinking long and hard what he wanted to say next without coming up with anything worthwhile. His eyes stayed trained on mine, unwavering and hopeful, but terribly confused. "You don't remember," he stated, finally drawing the conclusion that he did not want if his eyes had anything to say about it. In turn my eyebrows rose as I silently begged him to continue. His next word sent shivers down my spine and caused the hairs on the back of my neck to rise. "Tiffy."

He stated it so simply and cleanly that it sounded normal on his tongue like he used it often, and yet it caused goose bumps to run down my arms and prickle my very flesh. No one ever called me that name; no one knew to call me that name, except my siblings. Not even my grandmother knew of the nickname I used to hold dear in my heart back in the dark ages of my past neglect. That would imply only one thing and that was the thing that scared me a lot. This man, Vincent Valentine, must have been my brother. But I had six brothers and it would be impossible to pinpoint which one he was exactly- unless.

"Vinny?" My body shook as he slowly nodded his head, eyeing me carefully. The world seemed to swallow me up in one endless pitfall, like I had fallen through a rabbit hole, the illusion seemingly real enough that my arms flailed outwards to grab ahold of something within reach. I clawed my fingers deep into something squishy as soon as I felt the sensation race before my fingertips, refusing to let go. All at once the vision shattered, and I lifted my blurred eyes that had for just a second left his gaze back into the endless swirling pools of vermillion blood that reflected my own.

I am not sure who grabbed whom first or if we grabbed ahold of each other at the same time, but there I was wailing pitifully in his arms, as his own salty tears become lost in my hair. Five fingers tangled in my ebony locks and the other five traveled idly at the base of my spine, while my ten were busy keeping my body trapped tight against his. It was a beautiful feeling being reunited with someone long lost, but dear to you. It never occurred to me that I might have missed my siblings more than I had originally gave thought to. But alas, here he was; my younger brother, and I would be damned if I lost him so easily again.

Tifa

My feet dangled off the edge of the mountainside as I tried to think. My eyes lost in the distance, no longer capable of staring at the sunrise that at one point brought me happiness and unwilling to look downwards at the cemetery beneath our feet. All I could think about was her- her and her sweet smile and quirky laugh. The way she would call me her moon and stars when we stared up at the night together only further severs my connection with the sky and left me anchored to the earth. It all happened too soon, it was hard to believe any of this was actually real.

The wind whipped past my ears, causing inky tendrils to wrap around my neck lightly. With the breeze there was the faint smell of the summer to come, and while this used to be pleasant for the promise of strawberry tarts and lazy days out in the sun that always followed with the season change, it only multiplied the grief I had felt before. I would never taste her cooking again, only the replications of what she had taught me that never tasted quite the same as hers. Without her I felt hopelessly and utterly lost. She was my sun, my north star, my guidance; the mother I had never known and now I were left in the dark with no trail to follow. I was never jealous of my past life, the way I used to beg for release or happiness of some form, but at that point I was. I was damn well tired of having loved and lost, finding never having loved at all working so much more easily in my favor. When it was my siblings and I against the world there was no hurt, no pain of having lost a loved one. But then again, I do not regret anything. All of the love I have felt in my life was worth all of the pain I felt at that point in time.

I do not know how long I was sitting there gathering my disarray thoughts and compiling them into one organized symphony, but it was long enough to realize I had ignored my brother for too long. My brother; it was a weird thing to think about after having been a single child for so long. Nevertheless I turn to glance at him finally, only to see him next to me, scrutinizing the abstract kaleidoscope of colors before us. Neither of us says a word for the longest time still, getting to the point of it becoming unbearable. He has grown taller. Even I scoff at that. _Of course he has grown taller, nine years has passed._ But it is a weird thing to see your once baby brother towering over you now. He matured, another laughable statement, but he still had some baby fat when we parted ways. He was always thoughtful and composed, but his slender gaze let on a new poetic and reticent nature about him. I was only five months older than him, it was always awkward to call him my baby brother, but at that point the sentiment was unbelievable.

I felt awfully strange relying on the brother I had practically just met despite having lived in the same town for the entirety of both of our lives for support, but I needed a friend and he was willing. I wish he would do something to convince me that life would continue, that the world would remain rotating and revolving and nothing is thrown off balance, that although she would be dearly missed everything would still be okay, the equilibrium of life is still intact, but nothing happened. I wished he would comfort me, although that seemed to have never been his forte anything would be better than knowing the person beside you is broken and not doing anything to help. But we sat together in unfortunate silence on that cliff side watching the tragically beautiful sun set while the birds sang their lullaby to their fiery god. Before I could stop it my whimpering had begun anew.

"Help," my voice cracked as my misfortune burnt a trail down my numb cheeks. The word came out so distorted and pathetic it sounds more like a "hep" than anything else. The moisture stinging my skin and tickling my nose before driving down the curves of my grieving lips, allowing me a taste of just how pathetic I was acting, but once I began there was no stopping. The sun was setting and it would rise again, and time would continue on even if I never did. I could be trapped and lost in my own pathetic dark corner, but everything would move around me. If I fell behind then, there would be no catching up, and while there was something comforting in the idea of staying behind in my own eternal numb bliss than marching forwards into definite pain I knew that that was the wrong answer. Nevertheless I knew what I had to do.

"What?" The surprise in his expression opposed his otherwise calm face, foreign in comparison to his neutral tone. It would seem that he was not entirely as stalwart as Cloud after all.

"Help me," I whisper again, tears falling faster now as I tried to hold them back, but it only caused my throat to burn and constrict. Despite knowing it is what has to be done, I still wanted to be held, at that moment in the very least.

"Tiffy… I don't understand. What do you want me to do?" I closed my eyes tight at the sound of his grief-stricken voice, making it harder to hold myself back. I scooted closer to him nudging his shoulder lightly so he would wrap me in his warm and loving embrace. Unfortunately the years separated hindered our ability to surreptitiously communicate with minimal words, as he just raised his coal eyebrows and did nothing more. Whining like a discontent tyke and whimpering as if I were about to throw a fit finally got his attention enough to sling an arm carefully across my back. In turn I burrowed into his armpit and inhaled deeply, trying to memorize his scent before I up and left him once more. I wondered then if he practiced guns.

"Pinch me," I tried to command, but only managed to make it sound like a request. I opened my burning teary eyes, and was met with the sight of his hollow ones. Light- but present- bags hanged under his dry eyes, suggesting that he too must have cried himself to sleep the previous night. His eyes widened, as he understands what I have just asked of him, and yet he has not once made the move to do as I asked. I felt as if this was all perhaps one large nightmare that if I were to wake up I would do so with my grandma by my side and my brother in the town. The truth would allow me to visit him, know of his importance in my life without anyone's death bringing me to that conclusion. If he were to pinch me, maybe, just maybe, I would be able to wake up.

"No," he whispered, and I crashed. I did not fight it any longer. It would be ridiculous to be embarrassed to cry in front of my own brother after all. The tears came down hard and fast causing my nose to run as well. My face contorted to express my misery, and Vincent did nothing more to help than he did before at the funeral, just let me sit on the edge of the cliff as I contemplated my sorrow while he worked his fingers through the knots in my hair. I pressed my body against his and dug my face further into his shoulder, wetting his shirt with my tears as I wiped both my eyes and nose dry on his sleeve. Still he did nothing more; no words of comfort, for what was there to say? I wept in his shirt as he stared evenly at the sun, lowering his hand to draw slow circle on my back, and then up to my neck and then back in my hair. His hand brushed through once more, pulling on some of the velvet strands in his hand. Finally he breaks down again. His face buried into my jet-black locks and I could hear the choked mutterings that I have waited for since the moment he sat down. I could feel water drip down my scalp and past my neck, wetting the collar of my dress. While refusing to cause me the harm that pinching would obviously bring seemed like such a trivial prospect, it meant so much more to me. He refused because he still cared about me; he did not want me to know that this was reality.

With a shaky laugh into his shirt I smile for the first time all day. For the first time all day I am aware of everything around me, the snips of the crickets nearby, the chill in the air signifying the sun has set, and I reckon if I were to look up right then I would have seen the sure signs of dusk on the horizon. Instead I stayed cradled against his side like a little baby. For the first time in days I was content, I was able to breath. Being held and comforted by someone who felt everything I felt was like a breath of fresh air. And I loved every second of it. The gentle lull of his chest rising and falling and steady breathing, the feel of his heart beat beneath my fingertips, the warmth of his body entangled with mine, it all felt so real and perfect that I had never realized what exactly I was missing until I had it again. I would miss him, so much.

"Hey, Vincent?" I questioned, finally turning my head out to look at the moon's rise into the sky. The wind felt alien and frosty against my heated cheek making me want to hide back in his warmth, but the sight of the night sky was too breathtaking to pass up. The stars were slowly dotting the purple sky, blinking back into life from their hiding place during the day. I was glad I got to experience this with someone else right beside me. Vincent's presence had me thinking, if he was there that whole time and he knew I was there, would he perchance know where everyone else was?

He breathed steadily, lifting his head from where it was connected to mine and glancing wonderfully at the same sky as me. He released a lazy "Hm?" not tearing his eyes from the spectacular before us. If there was something I could be sure of it would have to be that no matter where the scattered pieces of my family went we would all be under the same sky, looking at the same moon and stars, and be cared for by the same passionate sun. That was an iconic thought, one I had never pleasured before, but would continue to carry relevance throughout my entire life to come.

"Vincent," I repeated, "what happened to everyone else?"

He went silent for a moment, cautiously asking, "everyone else?" as if he were testing frigid ocean temperatures by dipping a toe in first. His body stiffened slightly, muscles contracting as his digits hovered just above my head before slumping down to my shoulders and continuing their ministrations there. Just as I was about to question his odd behavior he relaxed and resumed to answer my question. "I did not expect you to _want_ to know about them quite frankly." That wounded me slightly, not that he could tell since we were both looking out the same way, but I felt my face collapse in embarrassment. "They are doing well, you know. We have a baby sister, not Shiki. She was born five years ago and will be turning five in a few days," he waited a moment, presumably for me to say something, which I said none. "Her name is Lulu; a nickname and formal name. She lives with our cousin Tim and his fiancée Alice out in the islands. They make for a strange couple, but I am sure she will be fine. A new brother, too. Gladiolus, after the flower. He currently lives with Nonoma, Powhatan and their daughter. He around the age of nine, I believe.

"Cousin Bob and Gwen married and are currently raising their two girls, Chlora and Sheldee. Chlora is five, and Sheldee is turning two. They are both cute; take after their mom, I guess. It is a good thing too, since Bob is hulking. It is a wonder Gwen fell in love with such a monster of a man. She could have anyone you know," he let out a long drawn out sigh, tiny wisps of frosty breath coiling from his tired mouth and slinking towards the stars. I vaguely remembered Bob, hardly having met him much before, but he was always tall and muscular and brutish unlike little Timmy who was only six years younger than him. I had not met Gwen, but just hearing of her was something special. The way Vincent talked about the entire family it sounded like he was quite familiar with them. "Chlora and Sheldee are good kids though. They don't ask for much, and they like to help Bob out on the fields or Gwen with her carpentry. Sheldee loves the animals, but Chlora is a little afraid of all of them- mostly the horses.

"They are like my sisters, you know?" That would explain it... "I haven't known them for very long, but Bob took me in, you know? I was only ten at the time and we were all pretty broken after the years of neglect, but he treated me like a brother, a right one. I was there when he met Gwen, and I was the first person he told when he realized he was in love with her. I helped him come up with an idea on how to propose to her, and I was there for the wedding. Gwen always regarded me as a person after all, and not just the adopted cousin of her love. She would try to find ways to spend time with me and do the things I like to do. They gave me a purpose in life, and I make sure I remember to thank them.

"When Chlora was born I helped them when she would not stop crying at night and let them have some sleep. She was a crier let me tell you that. I almost never got any sleep, but it was worth it, let me tell you, when she first started saying my name I felt a love I have truly never felt before. I loved her like the little sister I knew I had before, but never got to appreciate. It was like a second chance. I felt guilty for replacing you all, but... we all kind of moved on. Even you let go, Tifa. I don't blame you for it at all."

We were silent for a couple of minutes more, just soaking in the bliss of silence while I absorbed everything he has told me so far. His words rang true though, I _did_ feel guilty for moving on so fast, but given the chance to do it again I probably would have. I was beginning to realize that everything happens for a reason, and the way things have turned out thus far were not that bad. "Anything else?"

"Of course. Cousin Lloyd proposed to a girl named Sherry. I never met her myself, but I have heard she is sweet. It goes for our other cousin Tim, the doctor. He _finally_ proposed to Elli after, what, six years of being in love with her?" I let out a tiny snort. Something about the way he was talking about all of them sounded vaguely like how someone describing the latest couples in paperback dramas. Thankfully he chose to ignore me and continued on with talking about the cousins I did not exactly remember. "Trent, who is also a doctor, actually married Gretel, proving that despite being twins they clearly have different motives. Let's see, what else... There is talk of Jin proposing to Angela, but we'll see because he was always more timid- especially in the affairs concerning his girlfriend. Otherwise... I think that just about covers it."

"But what about everyone else?" I mumbled, glancing upwards from beneath my lashes to catch a glimpse of his face. Shocked, his face paled as if he saw a ghost and glanced downwards to me. He really did always look pale, but now that I knew he was Bastionite it made more sense. I wondered then if he still retained any of his memory of Bastionite. It was difficult to remember a language long after putting it to rest. Despite being fluent in it I seemed to have forgotten some of the trickier words. The last time I needed it was when I was ten after all.

"Everyone else? What do you mean?"

I gave him a 'duh' look and answered straightly. "Our brothers and sisters? You know, the ones who suffered alongside us? The other ones? Probably the most important ones?"

"Did I not tell you already?" He questioned, beginning to sound nervous, and I had no idea why, but I figured it would do me better to know than it would to let it go and never hear of it again. I would fight him on it, because if there was one thing Grandma had taught me it was how to be stubborn until the very end.

"You told me about Lulu and Gladiolus, now tell me of the others."

He released another drawn out sigh that let me know he had given up and I had won that argument with little to no effort put into it. If all of my brothers and sisters were like this, than I would be able to get through my life easily. Being stubborn was such an advantage. "Yeah, right. Well, where to begin-"

"-Rude," I cut in.

"Rude," he affirmed. "He goes by Rude French now. Moved in with Aunt Naomi and is currently taking care of Sally while her mother is out touring the world. He is a Turk," he said slowly as to let it sink in for a moment. Last time I checked we had all hated the Turks. They were heartless murderers who wanted nothing more than to see the blood of their victims spilling between their dirty fingertips. "A lot of our siblings are either Turks now, or want to be Turks in the future," that surprised me even more. Maybe I was truly the only one scarred by the actions of our parents. But I could have sworn it was all of us. "He is still the same guy- nice guy- you know. Silent, but good. He is doing the world a favor- I learned that. The Turks are actually not bad people. Our parents dreamed of breeding the next generation of Turks, there is a lot put into it after all, but not all parents are like ours."

"Oh."

"Judet is also a Turk. She is engaged to a man named Alvis, but living with Uncle Ollie, Aunt Pam, and their kids: Felicity, Louis and Anise. They might be moving in together soon, I think. If any of us are going to turn out to be like mom and dad, though, I think it would be her. We can only wait and see, however.

"Auron is well, living somewhere in Bevelle last I heard. With Aunt Alicia, Emiko, Keira, and Mana. She and Uncle Douglas split up. He is with a woman named Ciara now; they have a daughter Clara together. He is usually adventuring these days, getting into all sorts of troubles. Living the free life to the best of his ability.

"Tseng is a Turk as well, surprise, surprise. He was always smart and dedicated. Pulled himself up into high ranking as well. Not even you can be mad about that- his success. He is living with Tim and Elli. His situation there was like mine with Bob and Gwen; I am sure he will be a big brother in no time as well."

"I want to meet them, by the way," I cut him off again. Puzzled, he looked at me inquisitively, begging me to continue the question or else he would not know just what exactly I was referring to. "Everyone: the cousins, aunts, uncles, and the siblings. But Chlora and Sheldee mostly; your family. I want to see them before I go."

"Go?"

"Away. Back to Midgar, maybe," we were silent once more, the only sound was the melody of the crickets in the bushes around us, and the only dazzling movement was the fireflies dancing on the horizon, weaving between our bodies and lighting the way back down to the ground. I felt as if I were flying with them the way the wind was blowing my face and feet were hovering midair. It was a freeing sensation.

"I would like that; for you to meet them that is."

More silence, not at all uncomfortable, but with the chilled air and the never ending time continuing forwards we would be out there all night if we did not wrap this up. "Who's next?"

"Right. Yuffie. I actually don't know much. She is an aspiring ninja, bubbly and active. Essentially nothing changed. Loire lives with Lloyd and Sherry, but otherwise I have had no contact. Reeve, aspiring Turk, living with Ragna, Jin and Saya. Last time I checked those three were bitter, and have not contacted anyone since. If you are going to Midgar maybe you will be able to check in with Rude or someone and see if they have heard anything. No word from Shiki at all, which is sort of worrying. She was the weakest one of us, after all. Basically that is everyone."

"Why haven't you heard anything from them?" I questioned meekly.

"It is just hard to keep track of an entire family tree, that is all," he responded evenly.

"But you think they are well?"

"I think we would hear from them if they weren't."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"What do you want?"

He paused, unsure of how to answer, but knew the answer regardless. I let him have his time to think, but I felt it in my core the answer that I did not particularly want to hear, but prepared myself for it anyway. I counted his breaths judging how much longer until he answered. It became a game in my wait. His breath would hitch and I would start counting down from three, but when I was proven wrong I would start again.

 _Five..._

 _Four..._

 _Three..._

 _Two..._

 _One..._

 _Seven..._

 _Six..._

 _Five..._

 _Four..._

"A Turk mostly," I lost my game, and I found that to be more disappointing than the fact my currently only brother was becoming the thing I despised for years. We settled back into silence, just watching the moon rise higher and higher while I hummed something our grandmother used to sing me to help me sleep in the beginning years of my life in Nibelheim. Head on shoulder we stayed like that for however long until I started to drift off.

"Time has really gone on, hasn't it?"

"Yes it has."

I woke up in my own bed as the sun blinded me through my window.

* * *

Tifa

"But Grandma, I don't understand. What is so bad about the Turks?" A young boy with blonde hair and brown eyes with a smattering of freckles across his face questions as he sits crouched down in a squat while he listens to my story. He is a troublemaker, much like his grandfather was, but enjoys listening to my stories of when I was a girl. For a seven-year-old he is quite irritable when it comes to people talking down to him; he wants everyone to be frank with him and to be treated as an adult, even if the punishment is more severe. Dominick is nothing like his father, or his mother. He is unique, and that makes me smile all the time. Whenever I look at him I can always see my husband smiling back. Of course, he was never missing any teeth unlike Dom who was getting a visit from the tooth fairy tonight.

"Truthfully? It has to do something with my parents, your great-grandparents. They weren't always nice people- killed a lot of people in their time and stole some things- and I never liked that," I answer evenly, making sure I did not dumb it down too much unless I want to be roared at. Dom's fits are never something you want to see twice.

"Oh," He scrunches up his nose in distaste before falling backwards onto the floor to be funny. I offer him a giggle, which relaxes him and causes him to smile goofily. He attempts to headstand but only manages to fall on his face, making me glad I decided to watch them in one of the rooms with carpeting. While Dom tries to be impressive, his younger sister Lillian, or Li'l Faery as we call her, watches with a disgusted look plastered across her face. She and Dom are very alike, which causes them to clash sometimes. Being only two years separated and living in the same house could cause abrasions, but in the end they will always love each other even if they never admit it.

"Don't be such a dumb-dumb, Dom-Dom," she taunted while never looking away from the doll she is playing with, her Twilan fluent for a five-year-old. It was easy to understand her, which I am always glad for. I may have retained my ability to speak and understand Twilan, but I had never found the need to use it after all of these years. I just became used to Bastionite, I guess.

"Don't be such a priss, Lillian!" Dom shouted while still maintaining an indoor voice. Lil merely brushes a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, brown eyes trained on the doll she loves. Her freckles scatter across her nose, much less than Dom's but still enchanting. In fact she looks a lot like her other grandma, Elena, whom I have had the pleasure of meeting before, and I. Acts nothing like Elena though, she gets her spitfire attitude from Dominick. In response to him she sticks her tongue out maturely and uses a finger to lift her nose making her tiny pixie face resemble a pig.

"That's it," Dom decides as he lifts one hand in the air dragging the doll upwards against the will of gravity and out of the hands of his sister. Lillian looks dumbfounded for a moment before she slowly gets angry. It was interesting to see her transformation since it is always drawn out and dramatic. Slowly her shoulders lower and her face pout. Then her teeth bare and a spark flickers between her eyes. If she were a fire mage I am sure flames would surround her and smoke would be coming out of her ears.

"Give. It. Back. Dominick," She grits out slowly, making sure each of her words was more menacing than the last. Her hands quiver, as the rage possesses her tiny fae-like body. It is wrong to say, but it is amusing watching these two fight because they never mean to hurt each other, but when they do they are incredibly apologetic. They only act like this to show the other that they _could_ do more if they wanted to, but they only ever start these kinds of fights when there are witnesses. They always count on someone else to stop it so they can pretend that the only reason they stopped the fight was because they do not want to get into trouble.

"Make me!" He taunts cocking his head from side to side, and crossing his arms over his chest while still managing to keep the doll afloat. It would be a remarkable feat for a seven-year-old gravity mage if it were not for the fact that the loss of his concentration makes the doll sink slowly backs down to the ground. Dominick had to adjust his position quickly or else Lillian would get her doll back, but either neither of them notice or they are too deep into the fight to care, but the doll reaches the ground, but the bickering continues.

Lillian shifts her feet apart so she is crouching slightly, and pulls her arms to her right side. "You asked for it!" In the five-year-olds palms a black orb manifests slowly at first, but without the intervention they desire it would augment quickly and consume everything. A five-year-old with no training in her magic should never be attempting a spell beyond her level. Dominick's eyes glance to the side nervously; perhaps realizing for the first time that his younger sister possesses a more powerful skill, or that he wants me to finally break in. Both are likely. _These two will never learn._ I shake my head fondly at my two oldest grandchildren.

"Alright you two cut it out now. Lillian Fey Jenova, call off that spell this instant!" I watch attentively as the murky orb sinks back into the oblivion she summoned it from, and then as she falls to her knees from the sheer power of the spell she attempted to cast. "You need to think before you act, young lady. That spell gone wrong could destroy everything, and you would not want that. You are five-years-old, damn it! Had I not intervened you could have seriously hurt your brother. Or killed him! Apologize."

Sluggishly she gets up to her feet and raises her head to greet the identical pair of eyes her brother possesses. "I am sorry, Dom-Dom," she whispers ashamed of her actions as she now realizes she was in no ways correct in attempting to do what should have never been done.

"Now your turn, Dominick."

"Sorry, Lil," he ended. I clear my throat to catch his attention and show him I was discontent with his apology. He continues to stare at me with a confused expression stating that he has no idea why I have decided his apology was incomplete.

"For what?" I continue.

"I am sorry, Lillian. I shouldn't have taken your doll," his eyes glance upwards at mine before going back to meet his sister's. "You are the best sister in the world. And... I love you," he mumbles the last part fast while a soft blush accompanies his devilish freckles, and by the way Lil's eyebrows scrunch and her eyes glance upwards like she is trying to read something on her forehead she didn't hear him. Suddenly her eyes light up and she lets out a musical giggle.

"I am your only sister, Dom-dumb," Dominick only responds with sticking his tongue out classily, causing Lillian to do the same before they both laugh, Lillian's giggles and Dom's chuckles filling the room with the love I live for.

"Come on now, you two. Let's go take a nap. Lillian, you look like you can't even stand on your own two feet." And it is true; the spell seems to have gotten the better of her considering her knees are buckling and her eyelids are drooping. Thankfully her breathing is not ragged, or else I would have put her in a bed as soon as I got her to cancel her magic act.

They don't argue with me, they usually do not, instead choosing to follow behind me passively, purposefully ramming shoulders into each other causing Lillian to stumble more than once, while I pretend I don't know what they are doing. "Alright, up on the bed you two go." They climb on hastily, Lillian clinging to the cloth doll they were fighting over not too long before. I crawl in the middle of them laying my head on the pillow while they snuggle underneath my arms to try and get cozy. There are many rooms in this house with enough beds for them to sleep on complete opposite ends of the hall, but they always preferred taking naps with me, and who am I to argue with that?

"Can you tell us another story, Grandma?" Dominick asks, eyes drooping slowly.

"Yeah, like what happens next?" Lillian murmurs against my neck, eyes already closed and breathing becoming steady.

"Alas, that is for another time," I whisper to nobody as already the two rascals have passed out, leaving me feeling blissful and light. Lexor and Chloendra never get alone time anymore with these two causing messes and trouble everywhere they go, so I agree to watch them whenever they come to Kalm. It is never a hassle for me; I am always so alone now. These two monsters are the light of my life ever since my four kids have left the nest.

Kissing both of their crowns softly, I lean back and sigh, closing my eyes and submitting to the sleep I do not need, but welcome. _These two... These two are my reason for living._

* * *

Sorry for another not-so-brief intermission. I was three thousand words deep two days ago, and it was like that for a month, but sudden inspiration and a nagging sister helped move the process another seven thousand words, which was a daunting process, let me tell you. There have been a lot of things going on in my life currently, mostly college admission junk, but that is my excuse for not updating in forever. In the end it was my fault, and I am sorry.

I would like to clear things up, but I am not terribly sure I should. Anything really confusing should be explained later on in the story, but the story will sometimes shift to the present day where she is basically story telling to her grandchildren. Also, I always make Tifa contradict everything she says; one thing she feels one way and then the next she is saying it is all okay. I do that because she is trying to remain open-minded. A lot of things happen, and sometimes she will run with an idea only to back up and test a different thought. She is finding her way to be and what works for her. She is open to new experiences. Something truly traumatic will shape her, but for now everything that has happened she can bounce back from. She is a very strong character after all.

That essentially wraps it all up. Thank you all for reading another spectacularly boring chapter written by yours truly! It means the world to me.

 **khparisi-** You are a little stinker, you know that? Just thought I would point that out.

Just to make sure it is extra clear, I do own My Chemical Romance, or the song Helena (So Long & Goodnight)- although I do love them- nor do I own anything else I have mentioned in the prior chapters.

-Grace of the Feathered Pen


	5. Watered Down

_**Snow** **White Queen**_

 _In my eyes, close and jaded,_

 _It's no surprise the lights have faded_

 _I'll always walk away_

 _You'll always hear me say I don't need this_

 _I've been given such a gift_

 _Shame to take advantage of it_

 _Watch it, wasting leaves you wanting more_

 _Be careful what you're wishing for_

* * *

Tifa

No matter how many times I have traveled by boat it is always getting off that is the hard part. I do not do it terribly often, but when I do it takes a while to readjust back to stable ground and fresh non-salty air. My bags huddle at my feet ready for departure as the men of the ship lower the walking board. My eyes glance over the golden fields of a world I had left long ago searching for my slowly aging son. The sweet scent of April casts heavenly dew amidst the foliage and carting around the entrancing smell of freely blossoming flowers. Banora always has such an uncanny ability to sprout a lovely array of colorful plants and fruit, their best being their apples. Already the surrounding trees take it upon themselves to bud but not blossom showing where the delicate and enriched fruits will grow. The denizens of Banora all have such a deep found respect for their purple Banora White apples, a delicacy all around the world and their main export. I have had aplenty in my days; Dominick and Lillian enjoy gifting the apples to everyone just as much as they enjoy eating them.

As much as I enjoy visiting Banora to see my now extended family the idea of traveling has lost its main appeal. Wanderlust no more, I find my time is better acquainted in thinking the days away, or reading novel after novel in my husband's library. Leave the exploration for the children and their children and so on. I was great once; a golden member in my youth, but my time is done. The era I had once referred to as the present is nothing but the past; a story to learn from in history. And that is what I do, or at least plan to. There will come a day when my mind shall halt and therefore everything I have ever known will vanish from the universe, forever locked within the padlocked safe of my mind. However, if I may pass my story along, and that is what it is- a story- then perhaps that is a little less knowledge lost. I never considered myself fancy enough to recount my entire tale on a sheet of paper to be read over-and-over again. It is far easier to spin the complicated web of my existence to my small grandchildren where I could, if I needed to, speak in circles. There will come a time when everything will get blurry, but that is a trial for another time.

"Grandma, Grandma!"

"Grandma, look over here!"

"Catch me, Grandma!" They barely even leave me enough time to register their approach anymore. I am forced to throw my arms hard against the wind to catch the speeding demon possessed children crying gaily under the sun. Their light-streaked faces drip coolly with sweat from most likely tussling with each other before Chloendra pulled them apart. That is how their days usually go, anyway.

"Did you see how fast I was going? I was like- _whoosh!_ -A blast of air! _Whoosh,_ " Dominick imitates his previous bullet-like movements by running, arms behind his back, over to where his father and patient mother were lazily making their way over to our determined gathering area. His shirt billows in the wind behind him, his blonde hair beating against his reddening face as he releases the pent up energy that usually sends his mother into a tiresome frenzy. Lillian, upon seeing my arms unoccupied, quickly slips towards me to give me a hug and a delicate peck on the cheek. Her soft, freckled face begs for more attention, and how can I say no to those big brown eyes? I grant her the satisfaction, even though I know that the main satisfaction of my holding her is so that she could brag about it to Dom later. It has been months since I had last seen these four, and yet nothing has changed... I missed this.

My children all grew up much too fast. They are all off and married, except for Javaline who has gone off to save the world, much like her father. I do not see much of my other grandchildren either, but I make a habit of attempting to see them at least once a year. Kiera and Nico are too young to care about the sentiment, or understand anything that I would tell them. With that in mind Fredine and Haila have no care for my existence, as they have not even properly realized they exist yet. So, for the time being, Dominick and Lillian are the only ones who listen to anything I have to say. So be it. We have time before my memory gets fuzzy and I get lost in my own imaginings. What really matters is the moments infused with bits of the past. Who am I to complain about the journey along the way?

* * *

Tifa

All throughout my life I have complained. It is naturally what people do when they are discontent with the way the world is currently working, but I handled it with little grace. I often wondered how people could naturally be happier than me, always with a smile on their faces and gold in their hearts. Sofia Strife, Cloud's mother, was exactly like that. Sofia had everything to complain about and yet she did not let her children see her frown. When Cloud and I were children and I was loitering around their house she would tell us fantastical stories about a young maiden-turned-princess, to queen, to nothing and the dangers of the life that had been brought by the daring fable. It was one day that Sofia took me by the hand and walked me out to the garden she grew behind her house to tell me her last story.

She was very pregnant at the time, begrudgingly so. She was excited, do not get me wrong, all of her children were her dearest blessings; yet, she had had many in her lifetime and she swore that he would be the last one. I went over on my own behalf, with a suggestion by my grandmother, to see if I could help her in anyway her other children could not. It was not likely she would need me for anything, but I was greedy for stories; she always told the best ones. For years and years on end I would always hear her falter in her hazy recount before she picked it up again and carried it with a bitter reluctance indicating that something was left out. The constant, ' _I will tell you when you are older,'_ only heightened my curiosity, and at the age of eighteen I believed it was the best time to cash in for the big prize.

She gave me her and her husband's biggest, gravest secret that not any of her other children knew. She was convinced nobody would know, that she would die with the secret and nobody would know any better. That is until she realized that the only real way to keep a secret going is if the secret continues to live. So she told me everything, the very thing that made the earth shatter beneath my feet. The maiden in her stories- the little princess, the queen, the runaway- it was her. It was always her. Princess Sofia; when she told the story she always told it in the perspective of a youngster named Velvet and I never made the connection otherwise. Why should I have suspected anything different for the loving, normal peasant family that lived in the nowhere land of Nibelheim? As the thoughts ran rapidly through my brain I easily connected two pieces that destroyed all other mental processes. _Cloud is a prince?_

She recounted the first treachery she endured after her first, and brief, marriage to a prince named Hugo. They spent one night as a married couple before she discovered her love for another and fled. Sofia brought on war between her kingdom and Hugo's, but she and her love, James, were united, and that is all she ever wished for. However, there was a price to pay for her indecisiveness. Surveillance was everywhere; no one could be trusted anymore. Spies around every corner and men paid by Prince Hugo to kidnap his love, Princess Sofia, and return her to him would show up more frequently than either of them were comfortable with. So, without renouncing their titles, they did the only thinkable option and fled. James and Sofia, pregnant with their twins, left hand-in-hand to pursue the commoner life amongst the common folk in an entirely different country. Since that day they had no problems. No one had been able to locate them in ages, and so they lived peacefully with their many children in the countryside, grieving their lost life as royalty, but celebrating their happiness together as they had always imagined them doing.

Months later, I do not know the exact number- three, perhaps? -There was an accident. Or perhaps it was not; I always had my conspiracy theories after the fact. The cozy cottage that sheltered the Strife family burst into flames without a trace of anyone setting it on fire. Spontaneous combustion was out of the question, and none of the children were practicing any fire magic too near the house as they were all slumbering peacefully inside. I myself was not there to spare a glance at this prospect, no, Cloud and I were elsewhere, gallivanting. When we returned the estate was nothing but ash and sunder, blowing away in the moonlight and getting caught in the fields nearby, but the smell and smoke on the horizon caught our attention and demanded our immediate return. The acrid scent of smoke and burning flesh hung still in the air, stinging my nostrils and inducing salty tears in my eyes. Cloud was busy counting his siblings, making sure they were all safe, while I promised him I would rummage through the blackened earth to find anything salvageable.

I may have screamed, or released a short but sharp gasp- I do not exactly remember since nearly all of my senses shut down, but of course not my memory. Never my memory- for there on the ground was none other than Sofia Strife charred, blackened to a crisp. It had to be her, she was the only one with that pendant, a special amulet. It was the only thing she retained from her past life, it was the most precious inanimate thing she possessed. There was no doubt about it, no confusing her unrecognizable body for anyone else's. James was a bit trickier, but considering her hand was woven tight in his, and everyone else was accounted for, this could have been no one other than Mister Strife, my own father figure.

Never would I ever feel the comforting, warm embrace of a man loving his daughter, granting me peace whenever I felt my world tumble into disarray. His large hands clasping my shoulders as he regarded me with familiarity dancing in his laughing hazel eyes. The gentle, lulling shush of soft lips pressed against my forehead whenever the icy cold sensation of fear gripped at my throat. I loved him. His hair as blonde as straw that used to sparkle under the high heat of the sun submitted to a fiery death, and eyes that glistened and crackled like embers melted from their eye sockets.

I choked and gasped and sputtered as the tears that threatened to fall caused a constriction in my throat. My hands shook as I lifted them to my face, one reaching to clasp at my throat while the other tested the under lids of my soggy eyes to determine if there was any sign of moisture. I heaved out a sob, body shaking and knees weakening before they altogether gave out and I was kneeling in the soot of what used to be. Tears prickled at my eyes, stinging and itching as I recalled our golden moments together. I just lost my surrogate parents who understood me regardless, and loved me unconditionally. They taught me things that my grandmother was too hardheaded to admit, and provided me with a _family;_ the Strife's had become my family.

The amount of time I spent there on the bitter ground is unknown. The amount of time I spent trying to collect myself in front of the grave of my loving parents was never discussed, and I never asked. Nobody came to check on me; they were all having their own crisis and so they left me with my own. With shaking hands I reached out and unclasped the undamaged necklace from Sofia's neck, taking more time than I normally would due to the fumbling and general clumsiness of my current state. The purple stone that sat in the center was... perfect, it should not be perfect. Nothing that was in the house should have been perfect, and yet in my hand I held Sofia's prized possession from her blue blood life.

It was hot. That is an understatement. It was _scalding._ The blistering heat tickled my palm, sending screaming nerves scrambling in order to tell my brain to _drop the damn stone._ I would not listen, though, and instead chose to press the heated metal further into my skin. The chain bit the heel of my hand and cut into my fingers as the silver was tugged back and forth in my frenzied state, coiling and constricting like a snake, the burn of its venom seeping through my blood stream, causing welts and scorching numbness in any and all areas in contact with the baked amethyst. The glow of the stone enchanted me, the kiss of the flames granted it illumination. The blisters formed quickly and scattered across my entire hand; you could follow the patches of hideous raised bumps like a map with no real treasure.

Occasionally a tear would drip down my face and land on the angry stone before sizzling and evaporating away. The beautiful stone that seemed to captivate a thousand shimmering stars within its purple confinement, dancing as though the inside of the stone was nothing but liquid to move through instead of solid, cold rock. I used to love to watch the way the glitter would lazily configure itself, almost as if glamour had been placed on me; I was very captivated by Sofia's necklace. I am surprised she never mistook my staring as something of lust, as I was always staring whenever I saw it, and Sofia always wore it.

Gods above, how easy it would have been for me to just take the amulet and run with it. I more than her other children- her real children- took interest in the breathtaking pendant. It is almost expected that she would want me to own the thing most precious to both her and me. I always asked her what was so special about it to her, but she never answered... And I knew it would be unrighteous of me to just assume the responsibility of receiving- no, forcefully taking- an heirloom that could have easily been passed down from generation to generation. Who am I to intrude on this tradition? No, I knew what I had to do.

Grasping the thin silver chain tightly in the palm of my sweaty hand, the amulet hidden within my grasp but cutting deep into my skin, I stood up and made my way to the rest of the Strife's comforting each other patiently whilst awaiting my tardy word on my findings. All they knew is what they saw before them; they had nothing but themselves and the fact that their parents were missing did not sit well with them. Wiping my burning eyes for the last time, I stared hard through the ash-filled air, eyeing the settling debris and wondering what James and Sofia Strife did to deserve this kind of karma. _Do not think unwell of the undead,_ I chastised myself, _of course Mister and Missus Strife did nothing wrong; they are saints! Well, were..._

Tightening my grip once more onto the amethyst stone I stride over to my second family to assess the damage to those alive... or those barely. Roxas and Ventus lay in two heaps on the floor separate from each other, unconscious, bloody, and badly burnt. It looks as though some of the house had fallen on them as they were trying to escape. Patches of their fine golden hairs were... absent and their scalps were badly damaged. It hurt to look at them; I could not imagine their pain. Rosa, Sara, Aria and Naminé, being the eldest women of their craft, were healing everyone to the best of their ability, Naminé taking care of mainly Roxas and Rosa-Ven, as they were the most critical. The family was in disarray. Shock was still very present in their faces, blank but utterly exposed, leaving no room to compose their crumbling façade. It was maddening to watch this once dynamic family staring at the ground like they had just lost a huge battle. Each child carried a mark on their body where fire licked onto their skin and left a scorching kiss, a pain, a reminder of what had occurred. They were all in pain, but their own body issues did not surpass that of their dearest siblings. The count as of now was only two dead, but that could easily change if attention was not placed strategically. They all knew it, but none of them spoke a word about it.

House Strife, the wolves, animals of instinct and lust for freedom. They travel in their pack, and yet have trouble placing trust in themselves or others. When the name Strife is brought into conversation the first thought is the beautiful golden hair, spun from silk webs of sunlight and paired with their eyes, or stolen bits of the sky. It was speculated that the goddesses themselves crafted the first male Strife in order to have the perfect suitor, granting him complete and utter perfection. They fought over him so much that many wars were started in the Heavens to lay claim to the right to all of him, as the goddesses became greedy and no longer wished to share him. The conclusion was made that none of them deserved a being so perfect, and so they granted him mortality and sent him down to land where they could watch him from afar. Not everybody believes this story, but those that do worship the ground the goddess-descendants walk on in hopes of receiving purity and absolution. Even those who speculate the validity of the story cannot help but consider the absolute flawlessness of the pure children. It is common knowledge that every bone in a Strife is benevolent, although that could be all tall tales as well. Kindness is after all not hereditary, and not carried from blood to blood.

I must admit that even to this day I am haunted by the memories of the pack of wolves, freshly kicked and staring down at their fallen leaders. It is maddening to try and remember all of the details, so excuse me if I did not go too in depth; you both are too young to listen to such horrendous violence, anyhow. The point is I knew something the remaining Strife's did not, and I could very well have told them then and there, you see, and have been done easily. However, how do you tell a family- your family- that you knew all along danger was coming and did nothing to forewarn them? The Missus Strife wished for it to be a secret, and so a secret I promised it shall remain. I am only telling you now as it no longer matters, so keep that in mind, young children. Secrets are important, and in this world of constant treachery it is important to know your allies.

Despite not being able to pass on that crucial information, I was still able to hand off the one thing that survived the fire. Sofia would have definitely preferred her precious heirloom to be willed to one of her children, and since she never said whom exactly, I took it upon myself to offer it to one of the unfortunate heiresses. There were many candidates to choose from; my decision was in no way easy to make. Thirteen eligible ladies to choose from, and I would have to choose the one most deserving. How was I expected to make such a hard decision? I was half considering keeping the trinket to myself, but that hardly seemed fair. It belonged to the Strife's, fair and square. Instead, I chose not to choose. I closed my eyes and let my feet guide me. Thrice I spun before dizzily stumbling over debris and to where the lucky woman awaited. As I was five steps in, I heard her speak, meek and unsure, but like one thousand golden sunsets.

"Tifa, may I enlist your help, if you please?" Waist-length plaited golden hair tied together with a blue ribbon to match her indigo eyes and long white nightdress with blue accents harmonized to create the purity of the Strife family. Anyone who doubted the deity-descendent story believed it instantly after meeting Naminé; She had that effect on people. The shy fourteen-year-old was more than ready to marry and make any man proud to call her his wife; she was a pure gemstone- brilliant and sincere, not to mention outrageously beautiful- she could have had any man begging on their knees for her. If it were not for the fact that James did not want to merely sell his daughters off to the highest bidders. He thought they had more worth, more value than that. He treasured his beloved girls, which is why Rosa, at the age of eighteen already, was still unwed. He only wished for his daughters to find love. Now with James gone, their fate is bound to change.

"What do you require, Naminé?" She was resting on her knees, dress tucked beneath her legs and getting more and more soiled as she rocked back and forth, Roxas' head on her lap as she gently pet his head. Tears weighed heavily between lids as her shimmering eyes stared blankly down on her older brother. Naminé loved Roxas; they always had a good relationship. It pained her to see her once strong brother crumpled on the floor, burnt severely and struggling to breathe. Roxas and Ventus most certainly took the worst damage out of anyone else.

"I-I need your opinion on something rather important," she paused; perhaps waiting for my vocal objection, but when she heard none she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and continued. "If-," she stifled a sob, sniffling to best push back her tears and avoid the unfeminine issue of dripping noses. "If," she tried again, "there was something blocking them from regaining consciousness, and you knew what it was, what would you do?" She lifted her pale face up, amethyst eyes meeting mine for a second before dropping back down to her sleeping brother. She was breaking, and it was awful to watch.

Her question took me by surprise. How do I respond? Obviously if I knew what was happening, I would do anything in my power to stop it. So I told her just that. "I," I had said, "would do anything I could do to ensure everyone was okay." She did not notice it, but I did- the tight clenching her fingers did the moment those words left my lips. The delicate fingers threading through the golden scalp of her dearest brother gripped tightly for a second, before loosening and continued raking through and through. Her head dropped low, the loose hairs falling from behind her ears and shielding her face.

"What if-," She breaks off again for many moments, it must have been a minute, before she picks up once more, tears now streaming down her face as she silently and elegantly cried. "What if the action is inhumane?" This question caught me by more surprise than the last. How could waking someone up be inhumane? Naminé always worried about the ethical matter on every subject, and so I must have thought this was another internal argument over something as petty as dousing him in water. I could not think of anything else that could possibly help him, but harm him- if harming him was even an issue in her struggling plan.

Instead I stalked behind her and squat down so I was on her level. Reaching my arms around her neck I laid the amulet down upon her chest and pulled the ends back to me. Naminé deserved the treasure more than anyone else in her family. Sofia surely would have chosen her daughter as the one to don such a beauty, and do it with care in her heart. "I think," I fumbled with the clasp for a second before finally managing to hook it on right. "That no matter what you do, you will always do the right thing. Your mother would have wanted you to have this." One last time I gazed lovingly down upon the stone as my eyes filled with the formidable salty tears, gently letting go of the amulet and stepping back. Naminé did not last any longer as she burst out crying, falling over her poor brother and clutching his chest.

"I am so sorry," she had cried. "I am so sorry, I am so sorry, I am so sorry," she repeated over, and over again, rocking back and forth as she chanted the mantra seemingly endlessly. I could sometimes still hear cries of that poor girl during my most horrid nightmares. I was going to descend back towards the ground and comfort the young girl I regarded as a sister had it not been for the sole reason I knew them all like family. Cloud stumbled over to where Naminé and I were crouched, looking dismal and troubled. He shuffled the weight from one foot to the next as he clenched and unclenched his hands, all clear signs of his overacting nerves. His lips were pressed in a firm line and his bright blue eyes fixed as if he wished to say something, but was forcibly holding back the urge to.

"Tifa," he finally spoke up, ready to convey what has been troubling him for the full awkward three minutes he was standing there and attempting to recover his tongue. "May I speak to you over here please?" His voice sounded on the verge of breaking, not yet willing to give up hope but also realizing that there is little light left. Solemnly I nodded and stood from Naminé's side as she continued to weep on the chest of her sleeping brother and took Cloud's arm within my own, following him to wherever he lead me. The walk was filled with only silence between us save for the crunching of burnt remnants beneath our boots, and the soft crying and hushed lullabies by the younger and older Strife's respectively.

I did not know what to think at this point in time. It did not seem as though the poor ranch house in Nibelheim- the practical definition of the middle of nowhere- was accidentally caught aflame, and if it truly was not accidental, as it was supposed not to be, then that meant someone brought it upon themselves to hurt the good-natured family. And as I was brought through the rubble by the eldest and toured through the younger I glanced upon their trademark golden hair and blue eyes and remembered what Sofia had told me those months ago, I came to a sudden realization. This really was no mere incident. What Sofia was afraid of, of being found, finally came to fruition. The Strife's were decedents of royalty. They were a family of extreme power and authority with a pure bloodline dating back to before man recorded such meaningless things as names. The lineage of Strife, the wolf, was admired for the purity and regality. Any other family of equal or more wealth could have seen them as an issue and ended them. Therefore, for such a tragic event such as this should occur, there was a component in the equation that was still missing. There was no other logical explanation to why someone would want a whole den of wolves slaughtered at once.

And fortunately since they were, for the most part, unsuccessful, there was one issue left that haunted my mind for the duration of our walk across the field; they were all still in danger. It had to be true. There is no way that after two decades of sought after assassination they would be content to let the rest of the lineage walk off virtually unharmed. If it was in fact an assassination attempt after so long it was a rather poor one in my opinion considering there were far more survivors than casualties. The fire was meant to kill all of golden haired residents, but only worked to flush the wolves from the sanctity of their home into a cluster of chaos and disarray. It is alarming to think that the ones responsible for this attack would have had watched and taken note of the entire family in order to be thorough, and may as well be watching them all this very second. Twenty-five years ago, when Strife sat upon throne, Cloud did not exist, but Sofia and James were well-enough known that physical descriptions and habits were common knowledge. It was eerie to think that perhaps sweet Naminé, or baby Zidane would be known within circles of convicts, hoodlums and other lowlifes.

It is for this reason that I decided to stop thinking of it all together. There was nothing that I could do; even if I did find out who was responsible for such a devastating attack surely they would be stronger than I. The only thing I could do was let the Strife's know of what I know, but even that would directly contradict what the Lady Sofia had said. It was easier at the time to keep my pretty mouth shut, feign ignorance, and keep that one secret safe. If anything such as that happened again I would reveal what I knew. For the time being, however, the secret shall remain a secret. But still, someone should be aware, I thought. It would not be right to have a family secret and not even be of blood to the family. If anyone should know it should be a person of relation, but a clear mind as well, and perhaps some power or authority in order to protect. No one came directly to mind. Cousins would not make much sense only because the attack was on Sofia and James and their children, not on the entire Strife tree. It would take stronger fire to burn down a tree that resilient.

After I had come to that conclusion, my internal war settled score momentarily, I was aware of just how awkward the silence between Cloud and I was. We were still walking around burnt fragments and trying to find a part of the land where we could stand away from the siblings' ears, but still have them within our eyes at the same time. It was harder than it sounds when twenty-nine beings wished to move around and make sure they were all safe and secure. It ached me to know they were most probably not safe, but the guilt of the situation kept me in my place. Finally we found a place a little ways away, but the acrid scent and the horrid smoke still filled the air enough to make the uncomfortable situation become increasingly more difficult to stomach.

"Tifa," Cloud paused, taking a moment to bat the smoke out of his jaded eyes, the inhalant causing tears to cascade down his cheeks until they met at his chin. The wind pushed gently every once in a while; ruffling his golden spikes and placing strands of loose hair into my own trail of tears. "Tifa, there is a slight issue," he broke again with a nasty cough, the kind that would usually depict consumption or other like illnesses, but I knew only meant to expel the harmful fumes from his lungs. "A slight issue with the way everything is going to work out from here onwards," he finally finished, hunching slightly over to let out another deep and monstrous cough like the other twenty or so nearly identical ones being echoed before us.

Being startled and concerned, I placed my right hand on his shoulder and my left hand on his arm to hold him steady. I rubbed his shoulder gently and whispered soothingly in his ear while my heart beat heavily in my chest at the physical contact between him and I. It was not wrong to feel this at the moment, but no matter how much I resented my heart and told it to stop beating for him for just a minute, I could not halt my desires, not even in the midst of a family funeral. So instead I focused my energy on comforting not only him, but also twenty-nine others whom I have grown to love. "It is nothing that cannot be fixed, Cloud, and you know that. Tell me what besides the obvious is bothering you."

My trick to satiate him must have worked as it always has as he gently uncurled from himself and opened his mouth in response. "I cannot, absolutely in any way, care for them." To say I was slightly confused would be the understatement of the century. Cloud always had a hand in raising the younglings. He had helped his poor parents suffer through the care and growth of so many younger siblings that he knew just as much about caring for the children as James and Sofia.

"What do you mean, silly goose? You know more about caring for children than my parents do," he winced when he heard my words, and instantly I regretted it. I had not meant to make him uncomfortable. He knew my parents were a touchy topic for me and felt, for my sake, uncomfortable with my blasé mention of which I had cried over many times before. "I-I did not mean-I-umm..." I hummed for a couple of seconds a tune without a name or any real significance. Just a meaningless melody to fill in the void I accidentally created.

We stayed silent for a little longer before he contributed his voice to my carol. "I have to leave." That was that. Plain and simple, and easy to understand, but I could not, for the life of me grasp the concept of those words. Those four words were lost on me momentarily before I got it and felt my heart crush and crumble into thirteen fragments. We have had this conversation before, one in which he wished to leave the country in pursuit of the SOLDIER military program in a Bastionite city called Midgar. It was his dream to become a part of the legendary force responsible for the salvation of many lives. His own brother resided in the same city, whether he knew that or not.

"O-oh," was all I could manage. Still I held onto him and rubbed his shoulder, but now in a vicarious way to soothe myself more than him. There was nothing else to say.

"Now do you see what I mean?" He asked in devastation, staring down at his hands and shrugging mine from his arm.

"Not entirely," I admitted. There were a couple of methods that could still leave him in charge of them. Namely not leaving Nibelheim... That may have been a bit too selfish of a request, so I bit my tongue instead and tried to come up with more reasonable solutions.

"I... I have to go. This has been my dream for years, Tifa. You know that. Hell, you helped me learn Bastionite so I could make this dream reality. You have done so much for me, and I have not done nearly enough for you-"

"-That's not true-"

"-And I will absolutely not ask you to care for them all. But as the next of kin I am responsible for the well being of the lot. The next suitable are the twins and they are not old enough. I do not know what to do. I cannot pass up this opportunity; it is once in a lifetime!"

Just then it hit me like a horse. This could not only be the person who cared for the affairs of the Strife's, but the one who could help with the situation too. The one person who, besides me, could get to the bottom of the situation entirely, and put an end to it before anymore family got hurt in the process. And it all would fall on the responsibility of Cloud's half-brother. "Cloud!" I nearly screamed.

"What?" He startled, making me feel worse for my rash behavior as even more water slipped from between his swollen lids.

"What about your brother?"

"What about my brother? Which one? I have many," he scoffed, raising a pale brow in inquiry. I would not have been surprised if he thought I had inhaled a little too much smoke. I was in no way crazy, and he knew that, too, but I was being too vague for his liking, something I usually did not partake in, but in the interest of the situation I could not help it.

I rolled my eyes at that. "Your twin, Cloud! What about Rufus?"

His eyes darkened considerable, taking me aback. "Rufus? That bastard? Why, I have not spoken to him in years. What could he possibly know about caring for _my_ sisters and brothers when he had absolutely _no_ part in raising them at all," he huffed as he grew in volume and intensity with each enunciated word. While I knew he was not yelling at me, and that his resentment and hostility rose towards me were more to do with the situation and mention of his distant brother than anything else I still felt my pulse quicken as those beautiful tear-filled cerulean eyes were narrowed dangerously.

"Oh, come now. You are not thinking," I began, attempting to explain myself before he cut me off.

"And you are?" That hurt some, I will admit that now, but for the time being I had to brush off the scorn and continue. The fate of those children relied on whatever decision Cloud and I came to that night and I had to be sure that each option was mentioned. However, I felt confident that Rufus was the best we could ever get. So instead I glared at him with as much meaning as I could, scowl set in place in hope of scaring him at least a little. It was semi-successful as I noticed the tiniest bit of regret on his otherwise unchanged facial expression. I knew that was the best I was going to get, so I continued on.

"Yes, Cloud, I am. You clearly are not, however. Think about it! Who better to deal with family affairs than family? Directly related family. I understand, you yourself may not have the money and patience to care for your family for another fifteen years, or so, but Rufus? He is living with his father, no? His father the king? There is no one better to be in charge of them!"

"He does not know them! He does not care for them! If he did, he would have sent letters asking how everything is going, but he has not because he does not give a damn to how anyone in this bloody house is doing! He only cares for himself, which is great for him, but how is my family going to benefit from it?"

"You could still check in, you know. Drop in from time to time. You will live in Midgar, he will live in Midgar, you can still find out how they are doing. Please. All I am asking is for you to consider it."

* * *

Tifa

"And with that I walked away, leaving him somewhere behind me; the last time I saw him for a while. I went to offer my services to the family where they needed me," I finished the tale, chronicled in a different place than the previous story I told them, but just as important nonetheless. There has, after all, been death and devastation in my life, and as heart wrenching as it is to remember in such excruciating detail; it is an important lesson to live by later on. It is crucial that they learn from my history, for those who have learned nothing from the past are condemned to repeat it.

"Wait, Grandma?" Dominick spoke up, copper freckles connecting in his confusion. "What happened to the Strife's? Did he give them to Rufus? Did it turn out all right?"

I let out a low hearty sigh, closing my eyes for a second while trying to search for the answer. "You see, that I do not know for sure. He did give Rufus charge of them, but only because he had no other options. It did not turn out entirely as we had hoped, however. He did not personally care for them, unsurprisingly, but he did gift the families that took them in an annual grant. That is as much as I know. All of them have grown up with their own families now, so nothing too bad could have happened, right?"

"I guess so," Dominick sighed, slouching down slightly and digging the palm of his hand into his cheek. Sometimes I wonder if the children understand that these events did truly unfold and they are not just some fables I pulled from a faery-tale. Deep down I know they do, but it is still comical to listen to the questions they ask sometimes.

"Do you miss them?" Lillian pipes in from her position next to Dom, cradling her doll softly within her arms. Her blonde hair rests in two braids down her back in an attempt to get her to quit getting her hair tangled in a huge knot by the end of the day, but that does not stop her from tugging at them or chewing on them. And it certainly makes it oh so more tempting for Dom to pull. But all the same her hair, although not as golden as the Strife's had been, was nearly the same shade, and every time I look at my darling grandchildren's head and focus out for a bit I find my thoughts consumed by none other than my beloved faux-siblings and feel my heart ache all the same.

"Lots," my voice cracks as I am left in my guilty thoughts all the same. Although I should not feel any remorse any more; years have passed and they have all found their own happiness. I certainly did not help much with that. In the end, though, there was not much I could do. Happiness is all the better when worked for, anyway. That is, at least, my interpretation on the issue. I for one am a living representation of that idea.

The kids remain silent for a few moments as my sadness brought on this sense of awkwardness, as neither child knew how to handle the current situation. But even in fragile circumstances Lillian is rather impatient. "Do you wanna go see the trees, Grandma? Dom-Dom and I have a whole bunch right now and they all have pretty apple buds on them right now!"

Letting loose a low chuckle, I wipe my eyes and stand up. "Well, now, that sounds like a lovely idea, Lillian," she beams at the compliment, reaching out to take my hand as Dominick does the same with my other. "I could not think of a better way to spend the afternoon."

"It is so pretty right now, and it smells so good too! I named one tree Henry, because I like the name, and another one Little Lillian, even though Little Lillian is bigger than me I kept the name because that is more fun to say than Big Lillian, and I was worried that he would not like that name as much. I also named one Hakidonmuya because of the lady in your story, and another one Grandma because I love you, and another one named Mommy, and another named Daddy," and she continued rambling on and on about the trees she named, potentially annoying chatter, but endearing all the same. I spend too much time apart from them to be annoyed by every little thing they have to say. It is sweet to know that she remembers me enough to name a tree after me even when I am not around.

I have done things in my life that I regret, and if given the option twenty years ago, I would have perhaps wished to change them. However, when looking at the two children tugging on my hands and leading me through the forest of Banora White trees in their yards and naming each and every one of them I realize that if the everything in my life has lead up to me having these two, than I would be good to never wish for anything than what I have again. Truly, these two are the most amazing gifts that _he_ ever gave to me.

 _So I leave holding nothing_

 _Don't care what you say_

 _'Cause it makes no difference if I throw it away_

* * *

Yeah, I have honestly no excuses as to why this took so long to write. I am sorry, but I did not have inspiration for a while. I found some today, and so that is the only reason why another chapter is being published. I am currently rewriting certain aspects of it, by the way. Nothing that needs to be reread, just know that any prior mentions of modern day technology will cease to exist. Simply put, the era is changing to a universe of nearly my creating. Nothing too drastic that will change everything about the story, so do not fret. I would not do that to you guys (again).

Just a general thank you to all of my readers. I know that it must not be easy to read this since I always make it so long, and use words. My cousin informed me that at parts I write to eloquently, and make it too hard to understand. I will fix that too. I am sorry if I confused anyone.

Also, I am starting college soon, which will put a damper on the whole story-making process. I am actually really excited and talking to a person who I hope will be my roommate (here's to hoping!) I will try my hardest, however, to do this. No need to keep everyone waiting forever.

All right! Otherwise it is the same old-same old. Please leave a review, follow, favorite, do whatever! I hope you enjoy the story as much as I do, if not, than more. Thank you for everything, stay awesome, and I love you all!

 **khparisi-** Yes, I do try to clarify that.

Once again I own practically nothing in this story. I also do not own The Used, or the song Watered Down, however, I would suggest checking them out as they are a fantastic band, and that is a fantastic song.

-Grace of the Feathered Pen


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